Stages
by SableUnstable
Summary: Because every relationship is essentially just a stage, whether it's a friendship, a familial, or a romantic relationship. Theirs encompasses all three. Angst-heavy Remione AU with a side of Sirimione, rated M for language and adult content. For ShayaLonnie.
1. Like a Friend

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is not mine. *sigh*

 **A/N –** Because **ShayaLonnie** isn't feeling well and she writes amazing and magical stories, and because I needed an excuse to write Remione, lol. This is utterly AU in the fact that Hermione grows up and attends Hogwarts in the 70's with the Marauders. That's it. No time travel here, people, just a character timeline switch, so to speak. All right now, read, enjoy, and do let me know what you think! :)

* * *

 **Chapter One: Like a Friend**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

She makes a lasting impression from the moment he first meets her, at eleven years old. A muggle-born witch with long, bushy brown hair and front teeth too big for her small, delicate face, he encounters her on the Hogwarts Express during his quest to find an empty compartment where he can hide away from the noise, and the people, and the _excitement._ Because Remus isn't excited to be going to Hogwarts. He's terrified. Terrified people can tell what he is just by looking at him; terrified Dumbledore's security measures won't to be enough and he'll hurt someone. Terrified he'll kill someone, or worse; _infect_ them. So he's looking for a quiet corner to curl up in and calm down, to get lost in his head and ignore the outside world, the looks and the unfamiliar friendly smiles. Ignore the normalness he's just not used to.

And then he meets her.

It's an accident, really. He's doesn't mean for it to happen. There's a crush of students in the corridor he's trying to make his way through, more so than when he first got on the train, due to a quickly turning physical fight between three newly first-year boys holding up the works and blocking the way, and Remus's panic is escalating. He needs to get in a compartment. He _needs_ to. He doesn't want to be there, he wants to be at home with his parents and the magically locked and warded basement, and he's having trouble breathing because there are bodies _everywhere._ The full moon is still three weeks away but that doesn't matter, the agitation and anxiety is bringing the wolf to the surface, and when a body brushes up against his, pushing against him, a growl rumbles in his chest and out of his mouth and his hands latch onto the threat and grip _hard._

The threat squeaks. It's this unexpected sound that brings Remus to his senses, and he blinks rapidly and finds himself looking into curious and nervous that borders on frightened brown eyes. Horror roars through him and he lets his prey go so hurriedly, she stumbles back into the wall.

He's _scared_ her. He shouldn't be there, he's a _monster_. His chest tightens, and there's a buzzing in his ears, and he feels dizzy, and he tries to babble out an apology but there's an obstruction in his throat that he can't force words around. And then a hand wraps around his arm and pulls him to the side, and a door slides open and closes with an unknown word and a flash of light, and all the noise and the heat and the people disappear. He's sitting with the gentle guidance of the hand on his arm, and Remus instinctively curls up in the seat and closes his eyes, dragging in long draws of air through his nose, filling his lungs and allowing the silence to ground him and slow his racing heart. It takes a while, a long while, but eventually he cracks his eyes open to regard the girl he's attacked and frightened sitting on the opposite bench with her nose buried in a book.

 _To Kill a Mockingbird._ He'd enjoyed that one.

"I'm sorry," he croaks, and the girl looks up and cocks her head, brown eyes now only curious. She's studying him like a bug under a microscope. Even curled up tightly, Remus still fidgets under her stare.

"Do you usually have panic attacks?" she asks, voice not exactly friendly, and Remus gets the impression that she's only asking because she likes to know. She's nosy. He frowns, but the girl speaks again because he has a chance to reply. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. If you're better now, you should put your robes on. We're nearly there."

With that, she turns back to her book, dismissing him. Remus stares with his mouth open, shocked at how blasé she's acting, as if being attacked by a boy who's growling at her is a common, everyday thing. She doesn't shriek and scream and draw attention to him. Instead, she pulls him into an empty compartment and… did she magically _lock_ the door?

He turns and looks, and yes, he can smell the familiar magic, even if it isn't as strong as what he's used to. His head swivels back around and he gapes, stunned. She's given him someplace to pull himself together without the chance of anyone walking in to see him falling apart. All after he's attacked her.

There's suddenly an unusual warmth in his chest, and at that moment, he's never been more grateful for someone in his life.

"Th-thank you," he whispers, and the girls looks up again and sends him a small smile.

"Don't worry about it, this place is overwhelming. You going to put your robes on?"

Remus nods and does just that, and though they don't speak for the rest of the ride, the young werewolf watches the witch from the corner of his eye, reluctantly curious himself. A question circles in his head, and since he has no experience with the subject, he doesn't know the answer, or even how to find it out.

Has he just made a friend?

~0~

 _Gryffindor_. He's in Gryffindor. Remus is expecting Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw at best, but not Gryffindor. Never Gryffindor. He's bewildered and is sure the hat has made a mistake. He can't possibly be a _Gryffindor_. His maybe friend, " _Hermione Granger,"_ Professor McGonagall calls out during the Sorting, is in Gryffindor as well, as are two of the boys who'd been fighting on the train. They're his dorm-mates, those two boys, and Remus doesn't know what to make of James Potter and Sirius Black.

They're always _there._ They're loud and boisterous and messy _,_ and _always asking questions._ His other dorm-mate, Peter Pettigrew, keeps to the shadows and follows the other two boys' leads, and Remus doesn't mind him. They're similar in some respects. But James and Sirius are demanding and overly friendly and they get on his nerves, especially as the month progresses. He often retreats to the library and holes himself up in the back corner, just to escape James and Sirius, and all the other students with their continuous voices and their choking scents. It's too much, and Remus is hiding there one evening, two weeks before the full moon, when he next interacts with his maybe friend again.

She smells like marigolds. Pungent, musky and sharp, and the scent brings his head up from his transfiguration essay to find her standing at the other end of the table.

"Can I sit here?" she asks with a frown, sitting down without waiting for an affirmative. "Everywhere else is full of people _not_ studying. This is a _library_ , not a place to gossip!"

She sounds huffy and exasperated, and Remus looks back down at his essay as she spreads her books out, not knowing what to say. They work silently for fifteen or so minutes and then a redheaded girl named Lily Evans who smells like ginger and raspberries joins them, and the two girls begin discussing their Potions homework. After an initial smile and a hello, Lily doesn't try to draw Remus into the conversation, and it's strangely comforting, to sit there and work while they speak of potion ingredients, not expecting anything from him. The smell of books and parchment, the silent acceptance of the library, the unassuming and steady whispers of the two girls, it relaxes him, and Remus all of a sudden doesn't miss home _quite_ as much. He smiles down at his books and picks up his quill, idly wondering if they'd let him join the conversation.

Eventually, they do. Or maybe Remus just feels comfortable enough to add a comment himself. They don't act like he's intruding when he suggests which book to look in for History of Magic, and somehow it becomes a regular thing, to meet the two girls at the table in the back corner of the library after dinner. Remus is relatively happy, and even finds himself laughing quietly a time or two.

And then the first full moon just sneaks up on him.

It's horrendous. Horrible and painful and _lonely,_ so much lonelier than usual, and Remus can't make it to the library for a couple of evenings after because he hurts too much. So he's _utterly_ _flabbergasted_ when Lily and Hermione come to him instead.

"Oi, Lupin, Granger and Evans are downstairs asking for you," Peter says, and Remus's head swings up in surprise, eyes wide. James and Sirius are sitting on Sirius's bed snickering over something, and they go silent at the announcement, looking over at Remus curiously. James's eyes are narrowed.

"You're friends with Evans?" he scowls, and Remus shakes his head and gets off his bed, tongue-tied. _Is_ he friends with Lily? And Hermione? It still isn't a question he knows how to answer.

"We study together," he says quietly, but it has to be more than that, doesn't it, if they've come to seek him out? Sirius snorts and elbows James, who is still scowling at Remus. The sandy-haired wizard swallows and turns away from the dark look, heading for the door.

He doesn't know if his bespectacled dorm-mate's glare is serious or not.

"Remus!" Lily calls when she sees him on the stairs, worry in her bright green eyes. "What happened? Where have you been?"

"Are you all right?" Hermione asks, head cocked in a way that's becoming increasingly familiar, and there's something under the question and in her eyes that reminds Remus that she'd seen him on the train, curled up in a ball during a panic attack. He swallows again.

Hermione Granger is a determined individual. He doesn't know her well, but he's figured out that much. She's smart, and she can research with the best of them. If she gets it in her head to find out what he is…

His hands clench at his sides. He needs to be more careful.

"I'm fine," he says calmly, looking from one girl to the other, "I just haven't been feeling well. It isn't anything to worry about."

Lily's shoulders fall in relief and Hermione's eyes sharpen. He can see that curiosity, that _nosiness_ , swimming in their depths. But all she does is smile.

"All right," she says, nodding, her hair falling over her eyes. She pushes it back with an annoyed grimace, mock glaring at Lily when the redhead laughs at her. "Have you started your Charms assignment yet? I don't think I've added enough detail. It's only ten inches long."

"Which is three inches longer than required," Lily grins, and Hermione rolls her eyes at her dorm-mate, and then they turn and head for the portrait hole, hands flying as they talk and laugh. Remus shifts on the spot, unsure whether to follow.

"Remus, are you coming?"

Lily says it, and Hermione's standing there with her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, like he's being an silly prat for even thinking about not joining them. An exhale that almost hurts rushes from Remus's lungs, because he's sure, he's _sure_ , that this means they're friends. His stomach twists and he nods jerkily, hurrying to catch up with the two witches.

He has friends.

He has _friends._

He doesn't know if this is a good thing or not.

~0~

It's Hermione who changes his relationships with his dorm-mates for the better. Lily doesn't want anything to do with James, Sirius and Peter, mainly because James won't stop harassing her, which ends up colouring Remus's interactions with the three boys. He knows they think him weird and unfriendly, and he'll never admit how disappointed he is when they give up and stop badgering him a couple of months into the school year, but that's all right, because he doesn't like the way they treat Lily.

Maybe he's being overly defensive. Lily's one of his friends, one of his _first_ friends, and he doesn't like seeing her upset. Hermione says she more angry and frustrated than upset when he mentions it to her, but isn't that the same thing?

Hermione's smile is secretive when she hears him grumbling about it, and no matter what he says, he can't get her to tell him what she's smiling about.

"Talk to them if you don't like it so much," she suggests one day after Christmas break. Remus looks at her like she's barmy, but after James charms his hair red and struts around the common room proclaiming himself Lily Evans, Queen of the stick-up-the-arses, and Sirius falls out of his chair, he's laughing so much, he realizes he doesn't have a choice. So he gathers his supposed Gryffindor courage and speaks up that very night.

"Y-you need to leave L-Lily alone."

The chatter between the three boys stops and Remus finds himself centre of attention.

"What's that?" James asks, voice loud in the silence. Remus presses his lips together.

"You need to leave Lily alone," he repeats, and James gets to his feet. Sirius's grey eyes switch eagerly between James and Remus and back again, and Peter looks nervous.

Remus knows the feeling.

"What makes you think you can tell me what to do?" the wild-haired boy demands, eyes hard behind his glasses. Remus's stomach jumps, but he somehow holds his ground.

"I don't know why you don't like her so much," he begins and then breaks off when Sirius starts to laugh, and James flushes a deep red and turns to punch his friend hard in the side. Sirius's laughter turns into gasping hiccups and he topples back onto the bed. James's face is still red. Remus can't tell if he's fuming or embarrassed.

He thinks that he might be missing something here.

"I'll treat Evans any way I want to," James states mulishly, bottom lip poking out. "You can't stop me just because you're bloody _close_ with her."

Sirius somehow gets his breath back and starts laughing harder, and there's something in James's eyes as he glowers at both Sirius and Remus, and Peter just looks confused. And just like that, the light bulb comes on and Remus gets it. The 'O' his mouth forms is almost comical.

James doesn't dislike Lily. James really likes her.

James Potter fancies Lily Evans.

Remus blinks a couple of times, a bit bemused, because he honestly can't see the appeal. Lily's pretty and a nice girl; a good friend, but he doesn't like her _that way._ He can't imagine liking anyone _that way._ His nose crinkles up at the thought. And even if he does think of Lily, or Hermione, _that way_ , he can't be with her anyway.

Not with what he is.

He shakes off the thought and turns back to his dorm-mates, unable to help the pitying look he throws James. He doesn't think James has a chance. At all. Lily hates him, but maybe if he starts treating the girl better, that _might_ change.

James's black look fades and he looks sceptical when he tells him so. His eyes narrow in suspicion.

"I thought you wanted me to leave her alone?" he questions, and Remus shakes his head.

"I want you to stop taunting and mocking her," he says, licking his lips nervously, "it's not nice and it embarrasses her. She's my friend. Maybe you could try being her friend too?"

His Gryffindor courage abruptly drains with that suggestion, and Remus scrambles onto his bed and jerks the curtains closed. There's silence and then James mutters something that Remus pretends he doesn't hear, but leads him to believe the conversation was all for naught, and his heart sinks.

He's proved wrong the next evening when Lily sits down at their table in the library with a most peculiar look on her face.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asks, her head cocking as it does. Lily frowns.

"Potter was… Potter said something more or less _nice_ to me earlier," she explains, sounding baffled, before shaking her head and turning to her homework. Hermione snorts softly and turns to smirk at Remus, a brow raised.

Remus grins quietly back.

It's the beginning of a courtship that spans years, an overenthusiastic jester spouting flowery, ridiculous nonsense to his unwilling and exasperated, and a lot of the time furious, ladylove. And it begins Remus's friendship with his dorm-mates as well, because after having a tiny bit of non-lethal success the first time around, James decides that Remus must be some sort of magical love guru and continues to seek him out for advice. Sirius joins him, and the repetitiveness of it unfreezes the young werewolf, so that just like with Hermione and Lily, he suddenly realizes one day after the three boys wait for him before meandering down to the lake, that he's somehow saddled himself with more friends.

Again, he's baffled and more than a little uncomfortable. How the bloody hell did that happen?

~0~

His three friends turned best mates figure out what he is in second year, and when they confront him, Remus is _petrified._ He's scared stiff that they're going to scorn and abandon him, and tell the rest of the student body who'll come after him with pitchforks, and Dumbledore will expel him, and he'll be alone again. He can't stand to be alone again. Not after knowing people, and being involved, and _living._

Hogwarts has become his home, and now he has to leave.

He's hyperventilating at the top of the Astronomy tower when Hermione finds him. Curled up at the edge, the wind ruffling his hair, he starts violently when she puts her hand on his arm. His head snaps around and he looks at her, fear and panic and misery riding him, and when an utterly humiliating whimper escapes through lips that tremble, Hermione wraps her arms around him without saying a word.

He's gotten used to the scent of marigold. It surrounds him and his cheeks are wet.

"They don't care," she whispers, hand gently rubbing his back. "It's a part of you, Remus, not who you are. They don't care about a part of you, they care about you. They're your friends, and they'd never abandon you over some trivial little thing like being a werewolf. It's not something you chose to happen to you, so why should you be punished for it?"

Her hand is still moving along his spine, and as her words filter through his raging emotions, it gradually registers to Remus that she _knows._ He jerks away and stares, and Hermione looks back at him calmly, and the thought of her knowing grows and expands into the knowledge of her not _just_ knowing.

 _Mother of God, is anything sacred?_

"How long?" he forces out. Hermione's expression doesn't change.

"Since the end of first year," she says, and Remus's heart is slamming _so_ hard. What little air he's managing to drag in vanishes, and alarm replaces the calm in Hermione's eyes. Her hands grip the sides of his face.

"Remus, calm down," she orders, staring into his eyes with a frown on her face. "We do not _care._ Not one little bit. You're still you, still that sweet, kind, intelligent boy with a surprisingly dry wit and really bad taste in male friends. You're always going to be you, and we'll always like who you are. Changing into a wolf one night a month isn't going to make us hate you."

 _You're not grasping the severity of the situation!_ Remus's brain shouts, but when he opens his mouth to say it, Hermione's lips turn thin and white and she shushes him.

She _shushes_ him. The absurdity of it startles Remus out of his panic, and Hermione nods decisively.

"That's better. We're your friends, Remus. Try and trust us a little more, yeah?"

She wraps her arm around his shoulder and the conversation's suddenly over, whether Remus likes it or not. The young werewolf lets out a weak huff of laughter at how _Hermione_ that is, and they sit there for a long time, not speaking, Remus swallowing heavily and sucking in air through his nose.

It's his friend's shiver that reminds him exactly where they are.

"We should go," he mutters, the setting sun making the mild winter breeze turn cool and brisk. Hermione murmurs in agreement. They get to their feet and it's natural for the witch to take his hand and lead him out of the tower and down the stairs. They use one of the hidden passages he and his dorm-mates have found and make it back to the dorms just before curfew.

The common room is half-full, but all Remus sees is the three boys sitting in the chairs by the fire. James, Peter and Sirius look up. Remus stops breathing and everything pauses.

"All right, Moony?"

The werewolf's jaw drops and his eyes go wide, and something between a giggle and a snort escapes Hermione. Sirius shares an identical smirk with James at his reaction, and all the tension abruptly deflates, Remus sagging with it as his dorm-mates get up and lead him back over to the fire, asking if he's okay and laughing over his new nickname.

They're normal. They're acting normal. His throat is tight and his eyes are prickling again, and Remus sits and takes it in, feeling punch-drunk. His eyes shift over and Hermione's standing there wearing a smirk of her own, that one eyebrow crooked.

 _I told you so, didn't I?_

She's gloating in his head, and Remus sighs and closes his eyes, a small smiling tugging at his lips.

He has friends. He has _friends._ He can hear Sirius mocking James, and when Peter nudges him to get his attention and he opens his eyes to see the boy offering him a chocolate frog with a casual grin, he's finally able to admit that maybe, just maybe, that might be a good thing.


	2. Like a Sister

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own anything within the canon Harry Potter universe.

 **A/N –** The response to this story has been amazing (thank you, you awesome people!), so due to that and to the plot swelling outside the boundaries of a three-shot, this fic no longer has a chapter limit. I don't believe it will be long, however. Hmm. I guess we'll see. Enjoy, my lovely readers, and do remember to let me know what you think!

 _He has friends. He has_ _friends._ _He can hear Sirius mocking James, and when Peter nudges him to get his attention and he opens his eyes to see the boy offering him a chocolate frog with a casual grin, he's finally able to admit that maybe, just maybe, that might be a good thing._

* * *

 **Chapter Two: Like a Sister**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

He's fifteen when it's brought home to him that despite being one of his closest friend, she _is_ a teenage girl.

It's Sirius who points it out. Not literally, though that's something his best mate would find no shame in doing. Instead, he does it with a tilt of his head and a flirtatious look in his eyes, a slow, deliberate scan and a teasing, sensuous grin. And Hermione does it as well, with wide eyes and losing her train of thought, an appreciative gaze that lingers where it never has before, and flushed cheeks.

They bewilder him, those looks. Hermione's always been there, _right_ _there_ , with a bag full of books and a smirking smile, a crook of her head and a raised eyebrow. He knows she's a girl, but she's never acted like one. Not really. The year before saw her complaining to Remus about a fifth year Ravenclaw boy who'd taken to following her around. She'd found his constant talking annoying and his attempts at flirting ' _just plain weird,'_ for which Remus was glad because it meant he didn't have to go look the lad up. She's seemingly not interested in male/female games, even going so far as to mime gagging when Lily gushes about the Hufflepuff sixth-year she has a crush on.

She _looks_ like a girl. He's noticed that. She's grown into her teeth and her face is still delicate, her slight body slender and her wild hair making up for her short stature, in her words. But it's natural to notice those things, he reasons, he's a bloke after all, so he's never dwelled on it. The way she looks doesn't matter, because she's his first friend, his _best_ friend in a way that's different from James and Sirius and Pete, and he'd do anything for her.

So, despite the frequency, he doesn't really worry about those looks between her and his dorm-mate. He figures Hermione knows Sirius is a flirt, and after all, she's _far_ too smart to fall for the practised lines he hands out.

Or so he thinks.

That changes one evening when he climbs through the portrait hole after spending two days in the Hospital Wing due to a stray hex in Defense, to see a packed common room and Sirius and Hermione hidden in the back corner, him staring into her eyes, lifting her chin with a single finger and slowly leaning in. And she's not pulling away. Her hand's resting on his cheek, and as the sandy-haired wizard watches, she moves forward herself and their lips meet.

Remus is stunned.

He's _stunned._

"You didn't see this coming?"

The voice belongs to Lily, and he drags his gaze around to see her leaning a shoulder against the wall beside the portrait hole, one leg folded over the other and an expression he can't make sense of on her face. He swallows and slowly shakes his head. He can't find words.

"It's been building for weeks now," Lily says, watching him. "How could you not have noticed? You didn't think Sirius suddenly studying a lot more was just a need to improve his grades, did you?"

"It's OWLs," Remus manages to mutter, and Lily's eyes soften. She pulls away from the wall and walks over, stopping to silently rub Remus's shoulder. Her eyes flick over that shoulder and Remus can't stop himself following her gaze.

They're no longer kissing. But they're still sitting close, Sirius now talking to James, and Hermione with a book open in her lap. Sirius's grin should really be distorting his words, and Hermione's smile is soft, her eyes unfocused on the page. Their fingers are laced together on the small bit of seat between them.

Remus can hear his heart in his ears and his words are gone again.

"I don't know how long it'll last, and I doubt they do either. Just… try to get used to it, all right? They look happy. Isn't that the most important thing?"

Remus doesn't like change. He's most comfortable when things are running on an even kilter, sailing smoothly, with no hint of a dizzyingly abrupt right turn in sight. This turn with Sirius and Hermione is so sharp, it almost cuts. It completely throws him. So he does what he usually does when he needs to get his head around something.

He retreats.

Walking away from Lily without saying a word, he crosses the common room and heads up the stairs to his dorm, shutting himself away behind charmed curtains until the next morning.

He doesn't sleep at all that night.

~0~

"You treat her right."

The words blurt out, as they always do when he's nervous, and the dorm goes silent. Sirius's naked back stiffens.

"Er… we'll just… be downstairs."

James does have some tact when he needs it. The door closes and Remus is alone with Sirius, the dark-haired wizard turning to face the werewolf with what should be a cocky expression but doesn't quite reach it. The two boys eye each other.

"'Course I will," Sirius eventually says, and Remus frowns and shakes his head.

"No. You _treat her right._ She deserves more than you playing around with her. She's not your usual type."

Sirius looks offended and opens his mouth to reply, then pauses. After a moment, his shoulders sink.

"No," he says quietly, "she's not." His expression turns imploring and he takes a step forward. "But that's what I like about her, Moony. She's smart, and funny, and sarcastic, and opinionated, and she wants to spend time with me, and she doesn't take any shit, and she isn't bubble-headed and constantly squealing over me like a lot of the birds here, and, and… I- I like her. I _like_ her. I'll treat her right. I will."

Remus's stomach is clenching, and he doesn't like it, _Merlin_ , he doesn't like it, but he can't protest after that. He can't. Sirius is one of his best mates and Hermione is his… is his…

 _Sister_ , his brain supplies suddenly, and it doesn't feel quite right. Doesn't quite fit. But it's the closest he can come up with, so he goes with it. He shifts on the spot and stares intently at Sirius, who's looking unusually unsure. Remus's mouth flattens. Hermione's the closest thing to a sister he's ever had, and he'll _end_ Sirius if he hurts her.

But shouldn't he want the best for her? And if the best is one of his best mates, then who's he to say that this can't happen?

"I don't want to know about it," he says gruffly, and Sirius's nod is so rapid, his hair tangles around his forehead. Remus stands there wordless for another minute, and then turns and leaves the room, passing James, Peter and Hermione in the common room.

"Remus…?" Hermione calls after him, her brows drawn down, but he doesn't stop. And when she and Lily join him in the library later, he's silent and awkward and a first-year all over again.

~0~

For five months, Sirius keeps his word. Remus is sure he's talking to James about it, but they somehow manage to keep it private. Remus sees the couple of course; they hold hands, and Hermione sits in his lap, and they snog _all the bloody time_ , but in the boys' dorm, Hermione and Sirius are off limits.

Pete's birthday and a whole lot of firewhiskey change that.

The four boys are sitting in a circle in their empty transfiguration classroom ("cheers, Minnie!" Sirius salutes) playing exploding snap, and Remus has a nice buzz on, but he isn't drunk. It takes a _lot_ to get him drunk, so much that they haven't actually managed to do it yet. The other three are rip-roaring however, and James is bemoaning the fact that after four and a half years of wooing, Lily still isn't his.

"I give 'nd I give 'nd she gives nothin' back," he slurs as a card blows up in Peter's face, singeing the wispy moustache he's trying to grow. He frantically pats at his face, and Sirius's giggles are high-pitched and seemingly unending.

Since it isn't the first time parts of their bodies have caught fire, Remus figures he finds something else hysterically funny.

"What are you laughing at?" he asks with a grin, sipping the dark gold liquid in his glass. Sirius shakes his head like a dog and tips backwards, landing on his back on the floor with his hands over his mouth.

"He… he… he can't ge' any!" he snickers helplessly. "Its why 'e wanks all the time!"

"Oi! You wank too!"

"Nope, nope," Sirius sings, throwing his arms wide and ending up eagle spread, "I've 'Erminee to do that for me!" He giggles, sighs, and closes his eyes, folding his hands over his stomach. "Hmm. Love the witch. Eager, tha' one. And the sounds she makes when she comes. Swee' Merlin, I could blow jus' from that."

The snarl builds deep in his sternum, rumbling through his chest and shaking his ribs, and it _rips_ through the air when it escapes him, continuous and threatening and _loud._ Sirius's eyes fly open, his upper body springs up, and he gapes, the sound shocking him sober if only briefly. The firewhiskey bottle slips from James's frozen hand and spills all over the floor.

"Moony?" Peter whispers, bleary eyes wide. Remus's knuckles are white and he feels like there's invisible chains holding his back, his body straining forward but somehow still staying in position on the other side of their circle. His teeth are bared, and his mates are staring into soft green eyes haunted with amber.

"Rem, I-"

But Sirius doesn't finish because Remus is on his feet and out the door.

~0~

They don't talk about it. It's weird, because they talk about everything, but they don't talk about this. Or Sirius and Remus don't – Peter and James and Sirius, he's sure, talk about it all the time, going by the way conversations stop so abruptly when he enters the dorm. Remus himself is happy not speaking of it. He's embarrassed by his over-the-top reaction, and he doesn't actually want to _think_ about what led to that reaction.

He is violently opposed to thinking about what led to that reaction.

It becomes another forbidden topic and the four boys just pretend it didn't happen, which Remus approves of wholeheartedly. He puts it out of his mind, and that's where it stays until a month later when he returns to the school early during a Hogsmeade day.

"You're not going to Hogsmeade?" Lily asks the night before, and Hermione shakes her head, rolling her eyes when Sirius pouts at her.

"No. We're going to spend the day studying," she says. Sirius sighs loudly.

"But Honeydukes, love!" he whines, puppy-dog eyes pitiful. "And butterbeer and Zonko's! _Zonko's_! And you want to visit that bookstore, right? We can study anytime!"

"Did you or did you not _almost fail_ that test at the beginning of the week, Sirius Black?" Hermione scolds pointedly, poking her boyfriend in the chest, brow arched. Remus grins at the familiarity of the tone. "We are staying here and we are studying, and you are going to stop complaining about it! Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," Sirius sulks, while James coughs " _yes mum,_ " behind his hand and Peter sniggers. Hermione smirks and pats his shoulder, and the conversation moves on to where Remus, Peter and James are going first, Lily sniffing and saying that she, Marlene McKinnon and Alice MacMillan will be going in the opposite direction. James gets a mischievous look on his face and starts whispering with Pete, and Remus eyes them suspiciously, already thinking of ways to divert whatever they're planning.

In the end, he doesn't get the chance to divert anything. Pre-moon symptoms hit Remus without warning the next day, and by early afternoon he's dragging, mentally and physically. His mates are understanding when he begs off any further adventures, and he makes his way back to the castle with thoughts of a mug of the house-elves' premium hot chocolate and the rest of the afternoon in bed.

His head is so foggy that he doesn't notice the dorm is already occupied until he walks in on them.

Long, sleek lines. The bed-curtains are wide open, the covers pooled at the base of the bed, and his hands are clamped on her rolling hips, her torso a smooth, endless, pale plane, her breasts swaying. She's moaning, her hands sliding over her skin and into that untameable hair as he grunts and thrusts up into her, and the air is thick and aching with the scent of marigold, something slick, natural, _primal_ deepening the scent as it twines around and through spice and leather and coal dust, as if never to be separated.

Remus stares.

The disgust is unexpected, the awe even more so. Their hips pick up speed, and they don't even notice him, and Remus _forces_ his legs to move, retreating back through the door, heart slamming and mind a mess.

He's as hard as stone.

The young werewolf finds out exactly how much firewhiskey it takes to get him drunk that afternoon. He takes the tunnel to Honeydukes' cellar and strides silently through the streets, ending up at a nondescript little pub called The Hog's Head. The bartender doesn't care that he's clearly underage, just that his galleons are good, and when Remus stumbles his way back to the school much later that evening, he's well and truly _pissed._

"Moony! Where the _fuck_ have you been?"

The voice is disembodied, and Remus swings around wildly as he climbs from the Honeydukes tunnel, searching for the source. "Whos therr'?"

The air shimmers, and James and Lily appear, pulling the cloak off them. Remus gapes at them and then starts giggling nonstop, the world spinning.

"James! Jamie, Jamie, yous got her! Yous got your – hic! – got your flower!"

"Good Lord, Remus, are you _drunk_?" Lily gasps, her eyes firing up and her hands finding her hips. "You disappear for hours and worry us sick, and you're out getting drunk with _no_ consideration-"

"Evans, shut it!" James snaps, surprising Lily so much that her mouth clamps shut. The bespectacled boy steps forward and places both hands on Remus's shoulders, peering into his eyes. "All right, Rem?" he asks quietly.

"Bril'nt," Remus answers, smiling widely, weaving on the spot. "Fi'wisky's goooood, Jamie! Like it a lot!"

James frowns, still searching cloudy green eyes. "Come on, Moons," he eventually sighs, "let's get you to bed, yeah?" He wraps his arm around Remus shoulder and Remus mumbles something neither Lily or James can understand, and then they slowly make their way through the castle with Remus hanging off his dorm-mate and the cloak haphazardly thrown around the three of them. The common room is empty but for a few stragglers and Peter, Sirius, and Hermione when they enter.

"You found him!" Hermione exclaims, relief lighting her face as she rushes over. "Where was he? Is he okay? Remus, what happened?" She reaches for him and then stops, shocked, when Remus jerks away from her.

"No, no, no, no," he mutters, falling back against the wall and sliding down it a little. "Not you, not you, don' want you."

"What's wrong with him?" the bushy-haired witch demands shrilly, now looking a bit frightened. The expression on James's face is stark.

"He's well pissed," he replies, mouth hard. Peter's jaw drops and Sirius shakes his head, brows furrowed.

"Moony can't _get_ drunk," he points out, eyes on his slumping mate.

"Apparently, he can. Let's get him upstairs. He's going to have one hell of a head tomorrow."

Sirius nods and he and James reach for Remus to heave him to his feet.

" _Don't fucking_ _touch_ _me_!"

The growl freezes everyone. Remus is crouched on the balls of his feet, glaring viciously at Sirius, amber once again swimming through the green of his eyes. Sirius's step back is instinctive.

"Whoa, okay, calm down, Moony," he says, hands up in front of him. He turns to James with wide eyes. "What the bloody hell's wrong with him?"

"I don't know," the messy-haired wizard answers, jaw still tense, "but whatever it is must be big, because it's caused him to deliberately go out and get mindlessly sloshed. It must've taken an ocean of alcohol to get him like this."

"Is he trying to forget something?" Peter murmurs, but no one has an answer. James sighs and rubs his temple with his thumb and pointer finger.

"Right, so we still need to get him up to the dorm. Sirius, you stay back, and maybe Hermione as well, he pulled away from you before. Pete, wanna give me a hand?"

"Sure thing," Peter agrees, and the two boys carefully approach Remus, who is slumped back against the wall again, sitting on the floor with his knees bent and his head in his hands. "Up you get, Rem, that's it. Time to sleep, mate."

"S'okay, Petey, jus' gotta – hic! – jus' gotta work on it."

"All right then, but do that tomorrow, yeah? Here's the stairs, Moons, step up now."

The three boys slowly make their way up the stairs, Sirius, Hermione and Lily following. Remus is all but silent and completely passive most of the way; only really coming to life once they get to their dorm. His nose screws up and he shrugs Peter and James off, tripping over his feet until he gets to his bed, falling down face-first.

"Don' wanna sleep," he mumbles, and then promptly closes his eyes and passes out.

~0~

For a week, Remus stays holed up in his dormitory. He doesn't tell anyone what he's seen, and doesn't explain his drinking binge, and he's utterly _livid_ with Sirius, which he expresses through ignoring him the fucker. Sirius is clearly frustrated, but seems to care less the more Remus ignores him. He stubbornly doesn't try to draw Remus from his mood, which Remus knows exasperates James and confuses Peter.

Funnily enough, Remus is furious with Hermione as well, though he's not exactly sure why. He knows what Sirius is like and how talented he is at talking a girl into his bed. But he can't help the anger, and he can't help the almost vindictive satisfaction he feels at knowing that neither of his friends are aware of why he's pissed off at them, something he won't back down from, despite Hermione demanding that he get his head out of his arse and explain himself.

"I don't know what you're problem is, but you're being a right tosser!" she yells at him, hands on her hips and her hair flying around her head. Remus's lungs contract at the way her voice wobbles, but he doesn't acknowledge her, and Hermione throws up her hands with a cry of vexation and stalks from the room.

Looking up when the door slams, Remus tells himself is anger is justified. He has every right to be mad. They've gone behind his back… they've betrayed… they've done _that,_ and she's like a sister to him, and he can't…

Let them suffer.

It's the night before the full moon when his dorm-mates throw a spanner in the works, and Remus is again closed behind his curtains when they're suddenly yanked open. His head snaps up and he scowls in irritation.

"Oi, I'm working here!"

"Don't care," James says, face determined. "We've something to show you. Maybe it'll stop you from being such a giant git for once. Padfoot?"

 _Padfoot?_ Remus wonders, frowning, but before he can comment, Sirius steps out from behind James wearing a nervous expression that contradicts every other expression he's worn that week. He licks his lips and takes a deep breath.

"Um, so we've planning this for a while, and we all finally managed to get it last week, and, well… er, I guess just watch."

He takes another breath and widens his stance, eyes closing as Remus frowns further, and then he's not there any longer. Remus's jaw drops.

In his place is a large black dog.

"Wha…?" he mutters, gawking at the dog, who inches forward and noses his knee before sitting back on its haunches with its tongue hanging out. Remus's shocked gaze swings to James. "Did he just…?"

James grins. "Yip! And now we have… Wormtail!"

A gurgle of laughter escapes Peter and then there's a rat where he used to be, squeaking as it races around the dog and climbs up its tail. Remus's eyes bug.

"Mother of Merlin!"

"And last but most definitely not least, in fact quite decidedly _most_ , I give you… Prongs!"

James throws up his chin and then he's a stag.

He's a _stag._

"Holy fuck!" Remus yelps, his pre-moon body protesting vehemently when he flings himself back further on the bed in surprise. The stag snorts in what could only be described as amusement and stamps its hoof, and the rat chitters, scrambling down the dogs back and running for the stag. The stag lowers its head to allow the rat to run up its nose.

Remus gawps at the three animals, his breath streaming from his lungs with the force of a freight train, his heart pounding. He's staggered, and dumbfounded, and disbelieving, and _panicked_ , and he just can't process it. They have… they have…

What have they done?

"Moony?"

His head whips around and Sirius is standing by the bed, watching him anxiously. _Sirius_ is. No more dog. Remus swallows hard and pushes the words out.

"W-what did you _do_?"

"We can help you now, Moony," Sirius says earnestly, words leaving him in a rush. "You won't have to be by yourself tomorrow or ever again. Werewolves don't attack animals, and we can… we can give you a pack of sorts. It won't stop the pain, but maybe you won't attack and hurt yourself if you have a distraction. Hermione wanted to do it as well, but her workload's far too large to allow her to devote the necessary magical energy. She only found out we were doing it this year and it hurts her to try. She feels incredibly guilty about it." He steps forward and sits on the bed, staring intently at the werewolf who has pulled his knees up and is hugging them. "But even without her, you don't have to face this alone anymore. We are-" he turns and nods his head, mouth twitching at the stag frantically trying to shake off the rat clinging to one of his antlers, getting more agitated by the minute, "-we'll be with you now. Every step of the way. If you want us."

Remus is paralyzed, unblinking. They've done this for him. They've become… they've become unregistered animagi, because they _have_ to be unregistered, to help him. He can't even begin to comprehend it.

 _Sirius_ has done this for him.

Anger can't stand up against that.

"Goddamn you, Black," he groans, scrubbing at his face and sighing as the dark emotions melt like they hadn't even existed. The Black heir's grin is lightning quick and overflowing with relief.

"Padfoot," he corrects, and in the blink of an eye, he's a dog again. He lets out a soft wuff and then begins to dance around the bed, galloping over to the stag and the rat, yipping excitedly. Remus laughs, the sound catching in his chest halfway, choking him.

"Padfoot," he whispers, watching the stag lower his antlers and shake his head hard, the rat squealing when he topples onto the dog's back and slides down until he digs his little claws in and catches himself. "Prongs and Wormtail. Thank you. Thank you."

The way he swipes at his eyes isn't discreet at all, but the three animagi just continue to play and pretend not to notice.

* * *

 **A/N -** Come find me on Twitter or tumblr if you have questions you want answered, as I'm much more likely to respond to you there (especially tumblr) than via review reply. I'm very lazy with replying to reviews, lol. My username's the same on both sites as it is here. :)


	3. Like His Sister

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** Canon Harry Potter and everything related belongs to the original author. The storyline of this particular non-profit story belongs to me.

 **A/N –** Two things, my good people. Firstly, I have ignored certain recently revealed canon information, because those names are, quite frankly, rubbish, and I've read so many stories using a certain pair of fanon names that I can't imagine them being anything but what I've made them in this fic. Secondly, I've changed one of the genres from drama to angst because, also quite frankly, I just can't help writing it. ;) Do enjoy, and let me know what you think!

 _The way he swipes at his eyes isn't discreet at all, but the three animagi just continue to play and pretend not to notice._

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Like His Sister**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

She's like his scars now. A constant, never fading part of his life, something that just is; it's as if she always there, in his head, even when she isn't. He takes her presence for granted, and he knows he probably shouldn't, but he can't imagine his life without her in it, just as he can't imagine living without Padfoot and Prongs and Wormtail. Hermione's another limb, and his fellow 'Marauders' are his spine, and Remus's life is more solid than it has been since he was bitten as a child.

Once again, it's Sirius who throws things off track.

Sixth year rolls around, bringing with it the beginning of NEWTs, quiet rumbles of war from the outside world that the students safe inside Hogwarts mostly ignore, a steady build-up of tension between Sirius and Hermione, and Melissa Murphy.

Remus doesn't see her coming. She's in the year above him, her final year, and he meets her officially when the Heads decide to encourage inter-house unity by pairing prefects from different houses and years for patrol. Melissa is Remus's partner, a rambunctious Hufflepuff with a mane of curly blonde hair, bright brown eyes and a tall, curvy body that captures his attention from the moment he sees her walking towards him just before their first set of rounds.

He flushes when he realizes he's looking and hurriedly looks down. Melissa doesn't seem to notice, thank Merlin, and so begins one of the most enjoyable patrols he remembers experiencing. Melissa talks a mile a minute, but she listens as well, and Remus is smiling when their hour ends. He already looking forward to the next time.

Being as they'd had an early patrol, his dorm-mates are still in the common room when he steps through the portrait hole, and he doesn't realize he's still smiling until Sirius mentions it.

"What are you so happy about?" he asks, and there's a tiny bit of a bite in his tone that lets Remus know he's sulking about something. Hermione's sitting in the opposite chair reading _The Outsiders_ and not paying her boyfriend any attention, which usually doesn't bother Sirius. He just enjoys annoying her (and everyone else) by pretending it does.

Remus doesn't like thinking about of the undercurrents that are always there nowadays. He doesn't like the feeling of being stuck in the middle. He doesn't know when the undercurrents began, Sirius has been snappy and agitated and _off_ since summer, when he turned up on James's doorstep saying he'd run away and wasn't welcome at home any longer. James had immediately pulled him inside and said that his home was with them now, but the Potters hadn't taken him seriously until Dorea owled Walburga Black, who owled back saying that it doesn't matter to her where Sirius is because she only has one son. Needless to say, James's parents backed James up rather quickly after that. Sirius won't talk to anyone about it, not even to Hermione, but he's more reckless, more wild than normal, more willing to break the rules, more vicious with pranks, and _much_ more violent when it comes to taunting Slytherins. Hermione is very much against it, and it's led to mutiny in the ranks. Remus does his best to stay out of it completely.

Because even though he knows which side is his, which side he'd take if he ever had to choose, it still feels like a betrayal to Sirius. So he stays clear.

"No reason," Remus shrugs, taking a seat. Sirius's eyes narrow and then slowly widen in comprehension. His moody expression vanishes.

"I know that look!" he exclaims as he turns fully to face Remus and leans forward eagerly. "Who is she, Moony?"

Remus's eyes flick to Hermione and then back to Sirius, cursing the way his face flushes. "Who's who?" he asks, shifting on the spot. Sirius smirks.

"The bird that's got you grinning like a loon. Who does little Remus fancy, huh?"

"Fancy? What's this?"

Both boys' heads turn at the interruption and Remus's flush deepens. Hermione is looking at them, her book closed, and she's frowning, head tilted. Sirius's smirk grows.

"Our little Moony, love! Some girl's got him all twisted!" He swings back to Remus and his hand shoots up to pinch painfully at Remus's cheek. "Aww, look at our boy, finally becoming a man!"

"Oi, shove off!"

"Sirius, stop that!"

"Who is it, Moony?" Sirius demands, ignoring both protests. He's practically vibrating in his seat. "Did you run into a couple shagging during patrol and liked what you saw? Nah, you'd be blushing and mortified instead of blushing and happy if that'd happened. But you weren't all glowing and shit before rounds, so… aha!"

He turns with pinpoint accuracy thanks to Padfoot-enhanced senses, to spear Lily, who's just climbing through the portrait hole, with a look.

"Evans! Who's Remus's patrol partner?"

"Melissa Murphy," the witch answers as she walks over, looking wary. "Why?"

"Melissa Murphy?" Sirius whirls back around waggles his eyebrows, grinning. "That stacked Hufflepuff-"

" _Sirius_!"

"-in seventh year? Damn, Rem, you've got taste! And lighten up, Hermione, would you?"

Hermione huffs and Remus shifts, uncomfortable, exchanging a look with Lily. He's never hears them actually fight, but the constant tension is almost worse.

"So you gonna ask her out?"

"What? No." Remus frowns and looks back at Sirius, who's the very picture of a gossipmonger with his body leaning forward impatiently and his grey eyes dancing. "And who says it's even her? Who says there's even anyone in the first place? You're assuming where you shouldn't, Pads."

"Assuming, my arse," Sirius scoffs with rolling eyes, "it's obvious there's at least someone. Why aren't you going to ask her out? There's a Hogsmeade trip on Saturday. Ask her to go with you!"

Remus sighs. "Padfoot, I don't-"

"He's not going to ask _anyone_ out, Sirius, because Remus is far too sensible to get involved with someone during the most important part of our school career."

The excitement drains from Sirius's face and he turns to Hermione, expression dark. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said," Hermione answers, focus back on her book. Sirius stares at her and then his face transforms into a sneer.

"Well, maybe you don't know _him_ as well as you think you do, yeah? Ask her out, Rem, or maybe I'll just do it for you."

Hermione's head lifts as Sirius gets to his feet and heads for the dormitory stairs, her expression troubled. She sighs and Lily sits down next to her and bumps her shoulder, a pointed look on her face, but Hermione smiles sadly and shakes her head, then turns back to her book. Usually, Remus joins Lily in trying to cheer the witch up, but his mind is too preoccupied at the moment.

Sensible? Is that how she sees him? Is that how everyone sees him? The word abruptly takes on a negative connotation and Remus frowns. He's a Marauder, isn't he? He's provided most of the brains, knowhow and spells behind the Map, and he's the reason why Sirius and James don't get caught a lot of the time. But all he's seen as is _sensible_?

The word niggles at him for some reason, and he's moody and contemplative for the rest of the week. He doesn't see Melissa again until right before breakfast three days later, when he and his dorm-mates and Hermione are on their way to the Great Hall.

"Remus!"

He turns and she's smiling widely, and Christ, Sirius is right, she _is_ stacked, and Hermione's frowning at her, and the word _sensible_ whispers through his head, and he's speaking before he knows he's even going to say anything.

"Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me?"

He blurts it loudly in the middle of a crowded hallway, and the crowd goes dead quiet. Remus flushes a deep red, Sirius hoots with amusement, and Melissa blinks rapidly. She's blushing a little herself as the crowd begins to titter.

"Oh. Um…"

"Never mind, forget I said anything," Remus mutters, embarrassed beyond belief. He turns with every intention of fleeing, but looks back over when a hand on his arm stops him.

"No, wait, I'm sorry, you just surprised me. I'd… I'd like that."

The blush on her cheeks darkens and Remus's eyes go round. "You would?" he squeaks, then clears his throat and repeats the question in a much more manly voice. Melissa's lips twitch and she nods. She looks almost shy.

"Yeah. Yeah, I would."

"Woohoo! Go Moony!"

Laughter rings through the surrounding students and an arm throws itself around Remus's shoulder. Sirius hangs off him and Remus grins, not really embarrassed anymore, despite the murmuring crowd. Melissa's grin matches his, and her eyes roll as Sirius proceeds to bow down to Remus as if he's accomplished something awe-inspiring.

"I've a tutoring session that I'm going to be late for as it is, so I've got to go," she says, looking at Remus, "but I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall, yeah?"

"I'll be there," Remus answers. He feels another blush warm his cheeks when he hears how eager he sounds. Melissa's grin widens.

"So will I," she says softly, meaningfully, and Remus's cheeks _burn._ Laughter lights her eyes and with a wink, she turns on her heels and strides away through the slowly dispensing crowd.

"Well, Moony, I wouldn't have thought the blurt and embarrass method would work, but I've got to say, you well got results." James smirks when Remus turns back to his friends. "I didn't know you had it in you. Congrats, mate."

"If you don't think it works, Potter, why are you continuously using it on me?" Lily asks, appearing out of nowhere, but she's turning away before James can get out whatever smart-arsed remark is sitting on his tongue. Her eyes fall on Remus and her lips purse for a brief moment, and then she's jogging away down the hall.

Following a rapidly disappearing head of bushy brown hair.

~0~

The date goes well. They meet at Hogwarts' large front doors and walk to Hogsmeade with everyone else, not talking much. Not to each other. The silence isn't uncomfortable, however; it's a warm day, and Remus is nervous, but hanging out with Melissa appears easy, like he doesn't even have to try. Apart from a small amount of expected rival house ribbing, his friends are welcoming, and though Remus and his date mainly listen to the general conversation, it still seems like she slips right in.

There is one dark cloud. Hermione is angry with him and he doesn't know why.

She's walking five feet away, next to Sirius, but those five feet may as well be a gulf. And what makes it worse is that she's not _angry_ with him, per se. Not really. Not like fifth year when he was a wanker after seeing her and Sirius. It'd taken almost a week of relentless apologizing to get her to forgive him for that. No, Hermione isn't angry.

She careful.

She's polite; she's distant; she's _wary._ It makes the gulf deeper, makes it pulse with a greater significance that Remus doesn't understand. And it makes him constantly watch her, even now, when all he should be concentrating on is the way Melissa's muggle jeans fit her like a second skin.

It confuses the fuck out of him. Remus doesn't like it. At all.

They reach Hogsmeade and Remus's eyes follow Hermione as everyone splits off and she and Sirius head towards Tomes and Scrolls, and then Melissa nudges him and he turns and smiles, and his best friend slips from his mind for the rest of the day.

It's evening when they make their way back to the castle, and Remus doesn't know where the time has gone. They spend the day walking around the village; generally staying away from the more popular haunts, and by wordless mutual agreement, they avoid Madam Puddifoot's like the plague. Melissa's very easy to talk to, something he already knows, and to laugh with. There's a lot of laughter. There's no deep, in-depth conversation, it's all light and single-layered, airy, and Remus really likes it.

Deep and meaningful often leads to having to lie. It's a relief not having to dodge, or sometimes plain make up, certain events and time periods in his life.

Melissa's friends are waiting for her just outside the entrance doors to the school, and the couple stops, and all of a sudden it's awkward. Remus doesn't know what to do now. How do you end a date? He's never been on one before so he doesn't know. Just saying goodbye and walking away seems anticlimactic, and shaking hands is far too _friendly_ , not to mention formal-

"Remus?"

"Hmm?" Remus looks up, distracted from his fretting. Melissa is smiling at him as if amused by something.

"Will you kiss me goodnight?"

Remus's breath catches at the question and his jaw drops just a little. Kiss her? He hasn't thought of that. It's only a first date after all.

 _Don't you want to kiss her?_

The voice sounds like Sirius, and makes Remus realize that yes, he _does_ want to kiss her. He swallows hard, and his nod is jerky. He steps forward and Melissa mirrors him, and her eyes close, and her lips are right there, and he doesn't even have to bend down because she's only a tiny bit shorter than he is. He can feel her body heat.

She smells like seawater.

Remus hesitates for a brief flash of a second, his gut twisting, and then he closes the distance and his lips are on hers.

It's soft. Warm and soft, and quite nice, and Remus tentatively presses closer, moving his lips over hers, enjoying exploring the contours of her mouth. Melissa sighs and moves into him, and then her mouth opens and her tongue touches the seam of his lips. Remus sucks in a startled breath before quickly reciprocating, and what was just warmth before, abruptly rockets into heat.

His head spins. His hands snap up to cup her throat, and his tongue sweeps out and over hers, and Melissa clutches fistfuls of his sweater like she trying to tear it, and she moans.

She _moans._

It thrills him, that sound. _He's_ made her do that. He lifts her chin, breaking away and then going back for more, kissing her again and again, eager to produce more of those noises. Her response is enthusiastic, and they're pressed so close her breasts are squashed against his chest, and he can feel her nipples through her blouse, and heat's building steadily in his belly, and he can't breathe, but he's not sure he wants to-

"MR LUPIN!"

The loud, horrifyingly familiar voice startles the witch and wizard apart. Melissa is blinking repeatedly, looking decidedly dazed, and Remus's lungs are straining. His face is hot, and he's semi-erect, and it's _fantastic._

A throat clears, a second significant interruption, and both Remus and Melissa look over at Professor McGonagall, who's standing with her arms crossed and her mouth pinched tight in disapproval.

"You two should be ashamed of yourselves!" she barks, and Remus is suddenly aware of the crowd they've attracted. He blushes profusely as students of all ages smirk and whisper to each other. Melissa's friends are giggling behind hands slapped over their mouths.

He's made a spectacle of himself again.

"Such public displays are entirely inappropriate!" the deputy headmistress continues. "You're both prefects; you should be setting an example for your fellow students, the younger years in particular! Ten points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff respectively, and Miss Murphy, I'll be letting Professor Sprout know about what has happened here today!"

"Sorry, Professor," Remus mumbles, and Melissa echoes him, though he sees a tiny smile twitch at the corner of her mouth. McGonagall lets out an ill-tempered huff.

"Back to your common rooms, the both of you," she snaps, her beady eyes trained solidly on them. "And no dawdling!"

"Yes, Professor."

With an apologetic smile at Melissa, Remus about-faces and heads inside. A strange combination of pride and shame is fizzing through his chest, and he stops in his tracks when he sees Sirius, Peter and James waiting for him just inside the Entrance Hall, all grinning their heads off, and…

Hermione.

She looks like she's been hit in the face with a bludger. The blatant astonishment slides away when she meets his eyes, and the gulf is a _physical_ _thing_ , stretching out endless between them.

Remus scowls. When she walks away from him without saying a word, he's had enough.

"Hermione!"

Her back is stiff, and she doesn't slow down, and he runs to catch up with her. He grabs her arm and ignores her protest when he pulls her to a stop and drags her into an empty classroom. The door closes and Hermione is looking mightily miffed. Whether it's because he's manhandled her, or because of something else he's clueless about, Remus doesn't know.

"Why are you angry with me?"

The words fall out and Hermione looks surprised for a moment. "I'm not."

"Yeah, you are. Sort of. Something's happened. Something's wrong, or I've done something. It's been like this all week. What have I done?"

It's a waterfall of words because he doesn't like not knowing what's wrong. It makes anxiety curl in his stomach, and makes him feel like an eleven-year-old boy again, who's scared one wrong move will lose him precious, newly-acquired friendships. He steps closer and takes her hands. His heart is beating hard against his ribcage.

"Please tell me what the matter is so that I can fix it."

So many emotions rush into Hermione's eyes. He can't read them in time before they're gone, and then she steps back, away from him. His hands fall to his sides and his fingers fold in until he can feel his nails pressing into his palms.

"I thought you were smarter than that."

Remus frowns. "I don't understand."

"I thought your education was more important to you than the opposite sex," Hermione says. She isn't looking at him. "It's NEWTs, isn't it? Finding out I was wrong is disappointing."

Remus blinks and takes a metaphoric step back that's only just shy of a literal one. His mouth opens and then closes. She baffles him.

"You're angry with me because I asked Melissa out?" he questions slowly. He's trying to piece it together in his head. "Isn't that a bit hypocritical? You're in a relationship with Sirius."

"That's different."

"Er… how?" Remus asks, and Hermione's head swings towards him. She looks annoyed.

"He doesn't distract me from my studies, that's how," she replies, and it's very close to a snap. "I don't _let_ him distract me. I want you to do well, Remus, and being in a newly formed relationship will hinder that, I guarantee it will."

Remus scratches his head. "Who said anything about a relationship? It's one date, Hermione."

"Oh, you're the no commitment type now, are you? Just wham, bam, thank you ma'am?" she retorts, and this time it's definitely a snap. Insult curdles under Remus's breastbone, irritation warms his neck, and he answers without thinking.

"So what if I am? What's so wrong with that? It seemed to serve Sirius faithfully before he got together with you!"

"Sirius is _not_ someone you should be imitating! He's a terrible role model!"

"It got him plenty of action though, didn't it?" Remus fires back angrily, and the _'you included'_ just seems to hover in the air. Hermione's eyes go wide, and then her face is dark and furious.

"Fine!" she blusters, and her voice is high and shrill, "go date some random Hufflepuff and fail all your NEWTs! See if I care!"

She turns and storms from the classroom. Remus watches her go and sighs, regret making him feel uneasy. He thinks she has a proper reason to be angry with him now.

~0~

Two months pass and Remus continues to see Melissa. They don't 'date' in the true sense of the word. It's casual, whenever they want to see each other, something unspoken they both understand, and Remus feels guilty, because isn't he living up to what Hermione accused him of being? But it's a relief as well, because it doesn't take him long to remember that he _can't_ date her, even if he wanted to.

He can't 'date' anyone. It isn't safe, and it isn't fair to them. So it stays casual, and while he hangs out with Melissa, and spends hours snogging her when he's not studying, and eventually loses his virginity in an event that's short and only satisfying for half the party, but which he rather enthusiastically makes up for, Hermione and Sirius fight.

A lot.

The undercurrent is now an 'outer' current. That polite, distant gulf between Remus and his best friend is vast, and he refuses to breach it when it's over something so feeble, but she isn't angry with him because all of her anger is directed at Sirius. There isn't any left over for Remus. Their arguments are constant and varied, and all of the houses witness them shouting at each other at some point.

Remus hates it. He wants to intervene, but doesn't know how or even if he should. He watches, but she doesn't want to talk about it, especially not with him. She isn't _open_ to him, something that apparently rubs off on Sirius, because before long the animagus begins to ignore and avoid him too.

Sometimes Remus thinks maybe that's a good thing. He's hurting her, and it's only the distance between him and Hermione that's keeping him out of Sirius's face.

It's a full moon and Remus is about to head out to meet Madam Pomfrey when the shouting starts again. The common room is full but the fighting is expected now, so no one pays attention until their voices move to the boys' dormitory stairs.

"You're living in a dreamland, Hermione!" Sirius barks, voice echoing off the walls. "You're fucking delusional! You need to get your head out of the clouds and accept reality if you're ever going to be happy with your life, let alone make someone else happy!"

"Well, maybe you should go out and find someone who has the qualities you're after, since I obviously don't possess them!" Hermione hisses back, and her words fill the stairwell, dropping into dead silence. The common room waits and Remus stares unblinkingly at the darkened entrance. His muscles are locked.

"Maybe I should."

She gasps, and then there's an empty, wordless hollow. Suddenly a sob fills it, and she's a streak across the room, her hands over her face. Two doors slam above them and Remus is on his feet.

"No, Rem, you need to go, Lily'll get her. I'll go check on Sirius. Meet you later, yeah?"

The indecision is a painful thing, but Remus knows James is right. He looks towards Lily to see her already heading to her dorm, and relief makes the tension crack and dribble slightly before it shores up again. Remus grits his teeth and forcefully turns towards the portrait hole, and an hour later, he's pacing around the rotten little room he's claimed as his own in the upper floors of the Shack.

Where are they? The moon is about to rise, Remus can feel the damning orb it in his bones, and his fellow Marauders are missing. They've never been late before. It emphasizes the agitation, and the ache, and highlights the loneliness that's dug its way into him, knotting firmly in first year and blooming once a month since. It's a third part of him that never goes away, no matter how many companions he has during the night.

His blood vibrates and Remus's eyes bleed amber. They aren't here. They aren't here! The moonlight pours through the window, and it's then that he scents it, hemlock and old shoes flooding his senses. Shock, panic and horror are abrupt and suffocating, but it's too late, because a snarl starts low and turns into a whine, then a howl. His body explodes.

His last human thought is that he pities the boy creeping through the tunnel.

~0~

He wakes in a familiar bed, behind familiar curtains, with familiar pain pulsing in waves through his body, and a familiar hand holding his. Remus turns his head to stare at Hermione. Her cheek is lying on the mattress and her eyes are closed. A curl is sitting, quite daintily, on his shoulder.

His free hand reaches out, and it's a soft as he remembers.

She stirs. Her eyes blink open sleepily. "Remus?"

"What are you doing here?" he whispers. Hermione blinks again and sits back, and then something steamrolls across her face, and Remus is suddenly breathing hair as she climbs onto the bed and wraps her arms around him. She _bodily hugging him_ , and the gulf just doesn't exist.

His hands rise and hover over her back. His head dips as he tries to see her face.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong? Hermione? What's the matter, love? Come on now, you can't…"

His voice dies as the memory of the night before marches through his mind, solidifying the more he concentrates, almost preening. He feels the colour drain from his face.

"Snape," he croaks, his brain replaying the snarling, spitting, foaming werewolf bowling through wall after wall, following the scent of hemlock and old shoes, of blood, and human, and _hunger,_ and his rampage being halted by a stag, by _pack_ , by a hurt in his side. Remus's hand touches his torso and encounters a thick bandage. There's shouting in his memory, James's voice, James screaming at Snape to get out of there, to run, and the werewolf is going mad because there's _two_ human scents all of a sudden, one familiar but not, and it taunts and confuses and enrages him.

And then they're gone. The werewolf is alone, and he stays alone, for the rest of the night, until he's Remus again.

"Oh fuck," Remus whispers. He's staring at the ceiling, blood so cold he's physically shivering. "Oh fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._ I nearly… he could have _died._ I nearly _killed_ him. I nearly… _fuck._ "

"It wasn't you!"

The witch wrapped around him rears back, and her face is wild. There's tears on her cheeks.

"It wasn't you!" she repeats, and her voice is shrill again. "It was the wolf! You're separate! And it wasn't even _his_ fault, he was just following instincts! There's one person to blame here, and only one!"

Confusion replaces the shock and revulsion. Remus frowns and sits up, ignoring his protesting body. He's surprised it isn't worse. "What are you talking about?"

"Snape's had his suspicions, but he could have never figured it all out on his own! This never would have happened if he hadn't opened his fucking mouth! I knew he was angry and upset, but I never would've thought-"

"Hermione, _what are you talking about_?"

"She's talking about me."

He's standing at the end of the bed, and his face is a smooth mask, bone-white, skin stretched tight. His hands are trembling. His eyes are fathomless.

"Sirius? What…?"

"I sent Snape after you last night. I sent him down the tunnel, knowing you were transformed, knowing you'd attack and probably kill him. He's fully aware you're a werewolf, and the only reason he hasn't told everyone is because Dumbledore forbid him to."

The betrayal cuts, saws, _slices_ , deep and endless. It shreds him, and Remus stares dumbly at Sirius, his heart slamming. He can't breathe. He can't comprehend. He can't _believe._

"Why?"

The word is tiny and compressed and hideously hard to say. Sirius's hands ball.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Remus."

The sharp _crack_ of her hand meeting his cheek makes Remus jump, makes him aware that she's moved, and Sirius's head snaps to the side. When he turns back, there's a large red mark across the side of his face. He stares down at the furious witch and doesn't say a thing. He just looks at Hermione, eyes blank, and a snarl twists her expression, and her hand rises again.

"Don't," Remus mutters, and her hand stops mid-flight and falls to her side. Remus can see her shaking. Sirius doesn't move, doesn't speak, and the silence is acute. When _she_ speaks, it's like glass cracking.

 _Snap._

"I will never forgive you for this."

And then she's walking away, and Remus doesn't have the strength to call her back. He turns to Sirius, to watch him watch his ex-girlfriend leave, and the door closing brings the animagus's attention back to the werewolf, the movements of Sirius's body stilted and robotic.

They look at each other for a long time. Eventually, the mask that's holding Sirius's facial features in still, perfect alignment starts to crumble. His expression begins to resemble his trembling, balled-up hands, a window to his emotions.

They're a hurricane.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Fuck, Remus, sweet Christ, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never meant… I don't know what I meant. I've been so angry and I've been taking it out on everyone, and then last night I was… and then Snivellus, he… I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Please. I can't- I can't lose your friendship, Moony, please. Please."

Remus is silent, staring boy at the end of the bed who looks broken, and then he turns onto his side, lies down and closes his eyes.

"I'm tired. Can you go away now please?"

There isn't an answer. An audible swallow reaches Remus, and then hurrying footsteps shuffle across the room, and the door opens and closes for the second time. Remus's eyelids lift and he stares at the curtains, not able to sleep, insomnia plaguing him for the rest of his hospital stay and beyond.

It takes him a very long time to forgive Sirius.

* * *

 **A/N -** Don't forget to come find me on tumblr if you have questions, or want to rave (yes please!), or even just want to say hi. :)


	4. Like Family

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** No copyright infringement intended here!

 **A/N –** Nothing terribly important to say today... except the usual plug for tumblr (sableunstable), please do enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to let me know what you think! :)

 _It takes him a very long time to forgive Sirius._

* * *

 **Chapter Four: Like Family**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

She's on his back constantly, though he's the last person she needs to push, and seventh year passes in a blink of an eye. Before Remus knows it, they're graduating. He now has those coveted, shiny, golden qualifications behind his name, top of his class next to Hermione and Lily. He's happy, of course he is, but the achievement also leaves somewhat of a bitter taste in his mouth.

Because Remus knows that even with top marks in all his NEWTs, he doesn't have a very promising future. Not like Sirius and James, who are heading to the Auror Academy, and Lily, who wants to be a healer, and Hermione, who's tossing up between a position in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and the Department of Mysteries. Or even like Peter, who's happy to work part-time in Diagon Alley for the time being, so that he can spend the rest of his time with the mystery girl he's dated all through seventh year that no one seems to know anything about.

Remus can get the highest marks in a century and still have nothing to show for it, all because of what happens to him one night a month. People are dubious with werewolves like that. But he's accepted this, really, and he still feels the glow of pride for having done his best and for getting the grades to show that. He's accomplished personal goals, even if it can't go further than that, and he and the rest of his friends step out of Hogwarts, into the world, all eager and positive and optimistic.

Oh how naïve they are.

It begins with an invitation for Dumbledore. They go because they're curious, and because they want to help. The war has hit its stride over their last year of schooling, and it seems that everyone knows someone affected in some way. A group opposing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers called the Order of the Phoenix has formed, and Sirius and James still have just enough arrogance to see it as another way to be the conquering heroes of the piece.

Remus sits in the first meeting and smirks a little as he remembers Lily's reaction when James tries to forbid her from attending, for her own good.

Her brow, darkly red and sharply pointed, arches up. Her voice is haughty. Her eyes are dangerous.

"You don't actually think you can _forbid_ me from doing something, do you, Potter?" she drawls, and Hermione snorts with laughter at the way James backtracks rather rapidly, saying that he only wants her to be safe. One of Remus's favourite things about their final year is watching the romantic relationship develop between James and Lily. Lily shocks all four house tables silent when James absentmindedly asked her out to Hogsmeade early one October morning, and she answers with a quiet "all right," after a moment's thought.

You could hear a pin drop.

"What?" James squeaks, gawking at the girl in disbelief and breaking the stupefied silence. The room begins to mutter and a small smirk touches Lily's mouth.

"You asked, Potter. I just answered. Pick your jaw up off the ground before someone trips over it, yeah?"

She gets up and leaves the hall, head high though seemingly in a hurry, and Hermione grabs Remus's hand and drags him out after her. The three of them converge at 'their' table in the library. Brown and green eyes stare at Lily, who's fidgeting with an arithmancy textbook, both pairs demanding explanations.

"I just… I don't… he's not like I thought he was, okay?" Lily says as she looks up, and she sounds defensive. Her fingers are tight around the book she's suddenly clutching, and Remus doesn't know whether she's trying to get the point across to them or to herself. "He's different. He's not just stupid pranks and cutting remarks anymore. Like in fifth year when Remus got drunk, and he was all concern and take charge. It's why I was so disappointed when he went after Severus later that year. And then in sixth, when Sirius went off the rails and did what he did, and James stuck by him despite Sirius not deserving it, because he knew Sirius needed to have someone in his corner. And yes, Remus, I do know about your furry little problem." She turns and pins Remus with a pointed look, pressing the book into her chest and making the panic already winding through Remus's head grow in volume. "You stop that now. I've known almost as long as Hermione and the boys have, and I'm still here, aren't I? I know about your dorm-mates too. You lot aren't nearly as discreet as you think you are."

Hermione hides her smile behind her hand and Remus's mouth looks much like James's did in the Great Hall. Guilt trickles through the fading panic. He hasn't realized until now how much she's been left out. The expression in Lily's eyes says she sees the guilt as well, and she's staring him down, not pleased with that either.

Remus is the one who looks away.

"So you like James being all masterful, do you?" Hermione asks in a sly voice, and the question draws Lily's attention from Remus. A blush floods her cheeks.

"No, no," she answers, and now she's the one imitating James. Her tone's a squeak, and her face is still red, and Remus and Hermione share a smirk. Of course she doesn't. "It's just he's changed. I ran into him and Sirius in Diagon Alley over summer, and we spent the day together when Sirius buggered off somewhere, and he was friendly and intelligent and funny, and he didn't crack a single joke at my expense, and well… he's changed. Matured. I… I l-like who he is. I can give him a chance, can't I?"

"'Course you can, Lils," Hermione says, smiling. Remus nods in agreement and keeps to himself that James hasn't _really_ changed. He's been like that all along. Lily just hasn't been ready to see it.

Now, Remus thinks that Lily giving James a chance was a fantastic decision on her part. James hasn't wasted it. Their Head Boy and Girl have their own flat, and Remus knows James intends to ask Lily to marry him as soon as he's gathered enough courage. And since he's carrying the ring around in his pocket with him, Remus is sure it'll be soon.

The meeting is short and sadly lacking in solid information, and Remus is feeling more than a little disillusioned when it's over. He's quick to leave, but stops when Dumbledore calls him back, telling the others he'll catch up with them.

Fifteen minutes later, he walks from the room with a stomach full of knots.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asks, frowning at him when she sees his face. Remus sucks in a breath and shakes off the unease, and the guilt, and the quiet disappointment he felt steadily streaming from Dumbledore, because she's the reason he's asked for time to think about this. Her, and Lily and James, and Sirius and Peter. It's dangerous, what he's asked him to do, very dangerous, and he knows they'd be violently against it. Then, of course, there's the way he'd have to lose himself, lose the human and embrace the wolf, _give in_ to the monster, and that thought…

It terrifies him.

"Nothing," he says, and it's obvious Hermione doesn't believe him. He continues past her without another word. He doesn't know what to say, or what to feel, and he can't help feeling like he's letting everyone down by leaning towards saying no to this mission.

He should've figured that he never really have a choice.

~0~

The murder of Melissa Murphy shocks everyone. She's the first person who's died that the youngest and newest members of the Order truly _know,_ and Remus sits in the meeting after they've been informed, draughty-headed and numb. A hand takes his and marigold teases his senses, but he can't look at her. He can't move. The blow is too big, the grief and regret too consuming.

Melissa and he had never become more than casual. 'Friends who shag,' Sirius calls them after Remus begins acting normally around him again. Remus never offers more, and she never pushes for it, and they part on good terms when she graduates the year before he does. He never loved her, but he _liked_ her, and now she's dead.

She's dead because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and was torn apart by what is assumed to be a werewolf pack.

He doesn't hear the rest of the meeting. Hermione doesn't move from his side, and he has to forcefully shoo her and the others away when it ends.

"I'll do it."

There's both sympathy and concern in Dumbledore's eyes when he turns to Remus.

"My boy, are you sure? I don't want you to make this decision lightly."

"I'll do it," Remus repeats, deadpan, and then walks away from him. The next day an owl arrives with a coded message, and three days after that he's sitting in James and Lily's flat, watching Lily show Hermione, Alice and Marlene the ring on her finger. She's bubbly and laughing and _happy_ , and telling Hermione she's maid of honour, and James's grin all but bursts with pride. The mood is infectious, and Remus only has one thought.

 _Family._

"I'm moving to Denmark," comes pouring out, and the abrupt announcement quite literally shuts the excited prattle down.

"What? Why?" Hermione demands, rising to her feet. Remus holds her gaze.

"I've been offered a job over there. Busywork on a magical fungi and herb farm. Dumbledore's organized it, and I can't turn it down. It's not like jobs for people like me are a knut a dozen."

"For how long?" James asks with a frown, and Remus's heart is slamming when he pulls his attention away from a stock-still Hermione.

"A few months, maybe more. I'll take what I can get."

"But what about…" Sirius's voice dies and his eyes flick to Marlene, Alice, and Frank Longbottom, who's sitting quietly at the side of the gathering, only really there because of Alice. He clears his throat and looks back at Remus, eyes sharp. "Moony, you can't."

The message comes across loud and clear, and Remus shakes his head. The Order knows he's a werewolf. It isn't something he can keep to himself, and besides, he's registered. All they would've had to do is look up the records. But they don't know about James, Sirius and Peter, the latter not in attendance due to already planning on meeting what Sirius is positive is his imaginary girlfriend's parents, and the four young men intend to keep it that way.

Remus is very much aware what being away and spending every full moon without his animagus friends by his side for the first time in years will be like. But it's not like he can take them with him. He needs to immerse himself completely in his beast, in the packs that rumours say roam the multiple uninhabited islands that help make up the country, and he can't do that with _his_ pack following in his wake. Not only is it too dangerous, he's also not allowed to tell them about the mission.

It's need to know, and as far as Dumbledore is concerned, they don't need to know. Remus agrees. They'd only worry if they knew.

"I'll be fine," he says firmly, looking at Sirius and James, who both look like they want to protest. Neither do, and it's Lily who speaks next.

"You'll be back for the wedding, won't you?"

"'Course I will, Lils," Remus replies with a grin, inwardly praying he's not lying to her about that particular point. Dumbledore hadn't given him a timeframe, but it can't be more than a few months. He'll find out what he needs to know by then, surely. Lily's shoulders sink with relief and the conversation looks like it's going to pick up again, until Hermione cuts in.

"When do you leave?"

She hasn't looked away from him since he made the announcement. Her eyes drill into his skin, and Remus wants desperately to squirm. Instead, he turns to look at her with a carefully neutral expression.

"Tomorrow."

" _What_?"

"Tomorrow?"

"And you're only telling us _now_?"

Remus holds up his hand to halt the explosion of protests. "You're finding out right after I have. It was only confirmed a couple of days ago, and it's so quick because they need someone ASAP. I'm lucky they're willing to take me on, knowing what I am. Plus, Dumbledore wants me to see if I can discreetly scope out support for the Order, and the sooner than begins, the better. So tomorrow it is."

There's a rather disgruntled pause, and then James sighs and says, "well, we better make this a hell of a celebration then, yeah?" before he gets up and disappears into the kitchen, coming back with several bottles of butterbeer, elf-made wine and firewhiskey. Sirius reaches for and dispenses them eagerly, and everyone but Remus is soon three sheets to the wind.

The werewolf is chuckling at the way James is clumsily bracing Lily to stop her falling off her chair (and taking the chance to grope her at the same time), when marigold twines through his head.

"They're going to figure out you're lying to them eventually."

Green eyes lock on brown. "I'm not lying to anyone."

"Bullshit," Hermione says softly. She's studying him like he's a broken-down engine that she needs to figure out how to get running again, and her eyes are a lot clearer than three quarters of a bottle of wine to herself should allow. Her head cocks. "What are you doing, Remus?"

The sandy-haired wizard's eyes narrow. "I'm going to work on an herb and fungi farm in Denmark, Hermione. You need to let this go."

"You need to tell me the truth, and then maybe I'll let this go."

"Don't you trust me?" Remus fires back. Hermione looks startled.

"Of course I do!"

"Then start acting like it," he says, and his voice is curt, because not only is he insulted, he's also more than a little uneasy at how well she reads him. Everyone else bought it. Why didn't she?

He gets up, crosses the room, and throws himself down next to a snoring Frank, and an hour later sees him and everyone else flooing to his, Peter's and Sirius's flat, because when he says he needs to go home and sleep, Lily begins to panic that she won't see him again before he leaves, and James makes the suggestion that they all camp out at Remus's so they can see him in the morning. Remus can't help the smile on his face when they tumble through the fireplace, one that's wider the next morning when they wake up with groans and sore heads, wondering why they're all passed out on the floor. His bags are packed, shrunk, and stuffed in his pocket, his portkey will leave in five minutes, and his friends are complaining about the brightness of a sun that hasn't even risen yet.

 _This_ is why he's doing it. He can't keep them wrapped up in cotton wool, but he can do whatever's possible to keep them safe. He _needs_ them to be safe, even if it's at the expense of his own safety. He knows that what he digs out from within the packs probably won't be what turns the war's tides, but if it stops what happened to Melissa from happening to them or anyone else…

Nothing's more important than doing what he can to keep his loved ones out of harm's way.

"You going to leave grumpy with me?"

Marigold slinks over his skin, and his chest tightens, and Remus turns around and wraps Hermione up in his arms, breathing in that ever present scent. She sighs and the sound catches in her throat, and her face is in his neck, her breath on his skin, and she fits, and Remus is startled with the random thought of how exactly _right_ she fits, like she's made for his arms. He blinks, and Hermione pulls back. Her eyes are fierce when she takes his face between her hands.

"Be careful," she whispers, something deep in her expression that sets Remus's heart sprinting. "Please be careful. I don't know what it is that you're doing, but… gods, if you die on me…"

"I won't," he murmurs, staring into tear-bright eyes. Her lips press together and she nods, and then her hands leave his face and she steps back. Lily takes her place, and not long after, the toilet brush that Dumbledore has arranged as his transportation begins to glow, and he has to pull away from the hugging and the goodbyes, lest he miss it. He picks it up and smiles at his friends.

His family.

"I'll write," he promises as the glow brightens, and at the last minute he turns and all he can see is bright, endless chocolate brown, and then the portkey activates.

~0~

Living within a wild werewolf pack is not what one would term a fun ride. It takes a while to find them, and when he does, he finds that the men and women in the pack are more animal than human, even when they are human. Remus has to fight his way in and then give up most of himself to stay. But he's aware that that would be the case, and in Dumbledore's words, it's for the greater good.

The little fungi farm is actually a real thing, the owner an Order supporter, and since they already believe he's living there, Remus arranges for the place to be his mail drop-off centre. Once every two weeks he travels to the farm to collect his letters from his friends and from his Order contact, and he writes back whenever he can, a task that becomes difficult and slows down in frequency as the months pass. As a result, the letters from his family get more and more agitated, more and more worried, and Lily and James's wedding is only a month away when all of his mail begins to parrot a single sentence in various forms.

 _You are coming to the wedding, aren't you?_

It pains Remus every time he reads it, because he doesn't know if he can. The full moons are long, and so cold, and indescribably agonizing, both emotionally and physically. Fighting his way in is nothing compared to the clashes that happen when everyone's a wolf and hierarchy is challenged. But he feels he's getting somewhere, finally, and if he leaves… he's torn.

What's more important?

Hermione takes the decision out of his hands one afternoon, a week before the wedding, when he's on his way to the farm and a smoking red envelope appears in the air in front of him. Recognizing it instantly, relief shoots through him that he isn't still in camp when it arrives.

Nothing stops a howler from finding its intended target. Remus sighs, takes the envelope gingerly and pries it open.

"IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR ARSE BACK HERE IN TIME FOR THE REHEARSAL, REMUS JOHN LUPIN, SO HELP ME MERLIN, I'LL COME DOWN THERE AND DRAG YOU HOME MYSELF! YOU HAVE TWO DAYS!"

The envelope fizzes with heat and collapses in on itself and another sigh escapes, resignation dragging at his limbs. Well, he hasn't got a choice now. He can't have Hermione show up, and she will if he doesn't do as he's told. He's just going to have to deal with the fallout when he gets back. He continues towards the farm to write his handler, and two days later he's pulling open a heavy door of a grand church and slowly walking down the aisle towards a casually dressed couple standing at the front, a handful of others surrounding them.

"Then there's the vows and so forth, I, Lily Evans, take you, James- _Remus_!"

"Oi, that's not my surname," James protests, but he's grinning from ear to ear as Lily flies back down the aisle, and Remus finds himself swamped with redheaded female, the force of her body flinging itself at him knocking him back a step. Ginger and raspberries surrounds him and Remus relaxes for what feels like literally the first time in months.

"You came."

"I said I would, didn't I?" he answers gruffly into her hair, drawing her warmth into him. He hasn't realized how much he's missed her. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you a decisive yes. Wasn't sure if I was going to get the time off. The boss is right strict about that sort of thing."

Lily sniffs and pulls away from him. "Well, at least you're here now," she says, taking his hand and smiling shakily. "Come on, there's a spot at the front for you."

She leads Remus forward and into more arms. James hugs him hard and then passes him on to Pete, who passes him on to Sirius. The raven-haired wizard slaps his back and steps back, peering at his face with eyes that try their best not to look blatantly concerned.

"Mate, you look like shit."

"Thanks, Padfoot, that's just what I needed to hear," Remus states dryly, and Sirius's grins and his mouth opens to reply with what is probably a smart comment, but a hand taking Remus's chin snaps it shut.

She hasn't grown any taller. The observation is absurd, because of _course_ she hasn't, but it's Remus's only thought when she draws his head down and turns it from side to side, brown eyes taking in the fresh scar marring his cheek, just under his eye. Remus swallows and stands placidly as those eyes travel from his face, over his body and then back up again, now taking in the ratty clothing that hangs off his frame and the paleness of his skin. Her brow puckers and an irritated huff throws years of memories through the werewolf's mind.

"He's right. You haven't been taking care of yourself, have you?"

Remus doesn't say anything. He can't, because he's desperately weary all of a sudden, and he can't get his tongue to form words. It's like he's been constantly running on adrenalin, and now that he's home and safe, even for a little while, there's nothing left in him to keep him going. His silence has weight, and it turns Hermione's frown into a scowl. She lets go of his chin and steps back into line beside Alice and Marlene, and Lily takes her cue and follows suit.

"Here, Moony, you're behind Sirius. Budge up, Wormtail, that's it. Now we're set."

The rehearsal is over not long after, and Remus spends the next three days lost within his family, watching and slowly recharging, and rejoicing when James and Lily become Mr and Mrs Potter. He drinks and celebrates, and comes fairly close to getting trolleyed, and then he slips his belongings back into his pocket once the Potters' portkey whisks them away on their honeymoon.

The holiday's over.

"You don't have to go back."

He turns to look at her. She's still wearing her maid of honour dress, a slinky red concoction that she looks a picture in, even with her hair wilder than usual due to dancing for hours on end. In fact, that makes it look better in Remus's opinion. Hermione hasn't spoken to him much during his break, but Remus is actually grateful for it. He's been feeling sort of off-balance since he first saw her, more than just how discombobulating it is to be in society again, and he doesn't know why. It confuses him, and he hasn't had the chance to sort through it in his head, there's been too much going on. He doesn't much like it.

"Yeah, I do," he says, and his voice is flat, and final, and there's no reply from Hermione. Her fingers are laced together in front of her, and she doesn't move as he whispers the word to activate the portkey. For the second time, her eyes are the last thing he sees before he returns to animal and instinct.

The next time he sees her is at the birth of Harry James Potter, and it's even worse than before.


	5. Nothing Like Family

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** Nothing but the plot's mine. Everything else belongs to JK Rowling.

 **A/N –** I apologize for certain events in this chapter, as well as the day (my time) I'm posting. Unfortunately it wouldn't be written any other way (believe me, I tried), and I'd wait to post, but now my wifi's playing up on top of my laptop biting the dust, so I'm taking advantage of it working while I can. Enjoy if you can, and let me know what you think!

 _The next time he sees her is at the birth of Harry James Potter, and it's even worse than before._

* * *

 **Chapter Five: Nothing Like Family**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

He carries letter after letter spelled to his ribs. Sometimes they contain sheets of precise, slanted writing, and sometimes they contain only a few, brusque words, but they're always scented with marigold, and they're his anchor. He needs an anchor. Remus is human, he knows he is, but as time marches on, the months passing cease to have true meaning to him. He counts in fortnightly intervals, by the full moons and the trips to the farm, and the letters remind him who he is and why he's doing this. Why he's putting himself through this.

Because at times he's no longer sure what his mission is, or why he makes the trips to the farm. Sometimes he's confused over the constant letters, because he doesn't know who James and Lily and Sirius and Peter are, though he gets less from the final name. The scents on the letters are familiar, so painfully familiar, and Remus can almost place them, but they're _just_ out of reach _._

And then a new letter arrives, the scent strong, and the marigold cuts through the fuzziness and the doubt, and Remus knows who he is.

He knows who he is.

He's drowning in the werewolf. It's inhumane, living the way he is, but he has to do it. He has to stay, because he's risen through the ranks, and he's _so close_. He hears a lot more, and he knows _someone's_ leading the packs and working with the Dark Lord, but he can't see that final playing piece. He's stuck in a rut, slowly losing himself to the dark creature under his skin, and his handler says Dumbledore's suggesting he give it up. It's too much for him.

It's the wrong thing to say. Remus is stubborn, and this is the only thing he can do for the Order, the only thing he's good at. What use is he other than a spy? If he could just get to the top, find out exactly what paths have been taken and how far along them they've travelled, then maybe he can get the packs to switch directions. It's not impossible, he just needs the chance _._ Plus, the longer he's here, the more they trust him, and trust is a precious commodity that isn't handed over at the drop of a hat. His position is solid, but precarious close to falling away at the same time, and if he leaves now…

So, he stays. He stays and gets letters mentioning things that mean hardly anything to him when he's in pack, and take on greater, _real_ meaning when he's at the farm and he's clearheaded. Death is a constant in pack, but life is a constant in the letters. Words and sentences like _pregnant,_ and _it's a boy,_ and _we've decided on Harry,_ and _only two months to go,_ jump out at him.

So do _you've been away so long,_ and _we want you here for the birth,_ and _I wish you were here, Remus. Why won't you come home?_

He can't write back. He can't. He _can't._

He doesn't have the words in him.

He's fixing a marigold letter to his chest and prowling out along the path back towards the others when a bright, shining light flies out of the sky and settles onto the ground in front of him. It flutters its wings out and shakes its head, and Remus's rattily mind whispers _patronus,_ and then his old headmaster is speaking through its beak.

"It's enough, Mr Lupin. You've done enough for now. Lily Potter is due to give birth in less than a week, and you're to come home for the event. Everyone needs a break, my boy."

The patronus flares brighter and reaches for Remus, and the werewolf whines because he knows he can't escape. They blink from existence, and the next thing Remus knows, he's in a contraption-cluttered office at the top of a tower, at the height of a school, and there's an old wizard with a long, white beard sitting behind a desk and twinkling at him.

The twinkle dies very quickly. Dumbledore turns to one of the portraits on the wall and says quietly, "if you could bring Poppy up here for me please?" while Remus curls up into a ball on the floor and shakes, a low, frightened snarl pouring continuously through the airless box he's trapped inside.

~0~

It takes three days for him to come back to himself. They keep his mildly sedated and enchant the ceiling above his bed in the Hospital Wing to mirror the ceiling in the Great Hall, and Remus doesn't take his eyes from it unless he's asleep. He sleeps a lot. His dreams are a twisted mess of wolf and human, but on the third day he dreams of bushy hair, and green eyes, and a dog, a stag and a rat, and he wakes feeling solid and cold and _there._ He blinks up at the fast moving clouds in the ceiling, drawing in deep gulps of slightly humid, stale air, then turns his head, eyes wide.

"The baby," he croaks, and the wizard sitting next to his bed puts down _The Quibbler_ and smiles.

"Welcome back, Mr Lupin. No need to panic, Lily's still gestating. Her healer is positive she'll run overtime, so you can afford to rest a little while longer. How are you feeling?"

 _Like I've been killed and come alive again,_ Remus thinks, but he doesn't say that. Instead he chooses not to answer the question, closing his eyes. He doesn't want to look at his old headmaster, because he's afraid if he does, he'll start shouting. And he doesn't have the strength to shout at all.

Besides, what's the point? It's not as if knowing before he left that he might actually _become_ the monster living within him would've stopped him from going.

Nothing would've stopped him from going.

"Remus?"

The young werewolf turned onto his side, showing Dumbledore his back. He can hear the pause from his visitor as if it was audible, and then the chair squeaks.

"I'll let you know when she goes into labour. Rest now, my boy."

 _I'm not your boy._

But he is, and it's this thought that has him staring blindly at the curtains, his mind turning over until exhaustion claims him again, and it's this thought that has him parroting over and over, "I'm fine, I'm better, I want to see my friends," for the four days following. It takes a while to convince Madam Pomfrey, who Remus thinks must live at the school even during summer, but she finally allows him leave, and Remus hurries up to Dumbledore's office, his borrowed robes tangling around his feet. Perhaps knowing that he isn't one of Remus's favourite people at the moment, the headmaster doesn't say anything when the younger wizard barges into his office. All he does is wave his hand at the floo.

Remus throws the powder, steps into the flames and calls out, "15 Buckburn Crescent!" The green fire engulfs him, and then he's walking out the other side into a kitchen he hasn't been in in countless months, and there's a wand tip pointing right at his nose. The werewolf's eyes cross briefly as he focuses on it, and then he's looking up to blink at the owner.

"Sirius?"

"What idea did Remus Lupin nix as an end of year prank in fourth year due to believing it too dangerous?"

The scents in the house are overwhelming, and his mind's muddled, and he's confused and a little frustrated by the question. "Sirius, I don't underst-"

"Answer the question or I will stun you."

Sandy brows wing. "You wanted to charm the suits of armour to pull stone from Hogwarts' walls and set up a muggle ten pin bowling game, the students, Slytherins in particular, the pins. And I wasn't the only one who said no. Even James didn't go for that one."

Sirius's face relaxed and his wand lowers, and then a look of contempt replaces the hard, professional expression.

"Well looks who's finally decided to grace us with his presence," he sneers, eyeing Remus up and down. "Thought the kid was going to be Hogwarts age before you decided to show up at the door."

The disdain is surprising. He knows his friends likely aren't very happy with him, and they'll be even more so when they figure out he can't give them a real reason for staying away so long, but he isn't anticipating such a strong reaction. He frowns and opens his mouth to reply, but then a sharp _crack_ rings through the house and marigold floods his muddled mind, and the wolf that he's assured Poppy Pomfrey is firmly settled back into his subconscious kicks him in the teeth.

He's moving before his humanity can catch up. She shrieks when he wraps his arms around her from behind, and his body folds down to the floor, and he's snuffling at her, _sniffing_ her, drawing in the scent that frequency has made the most familiar pack to the wolf instincts and which kept the human relatively sane. He buries his face into her shoulder and runs his nose along her throat, sighing in a soft rumble, and she stiffens.

No. She stiffens _more._

The tightness of the body squashed into his lap brings Remus to his senses. He blinks and pulls his head away, and she's like a block of wood in his arms, her muscles so taut she'll break in the breeze.

She doesn't want him touching her.

The thought slinks through his mind and he's on his feet in an instant, Hermione placed just so, and he's standing on the opposite side of the room with his hands behind his back. His gut is churning and the wall above her head is fascinating.

"I apologize," he says quietly. He knows he sounds formal, stilted, but he can't help it. She's never reacted to him touching her like this before, in any way. He doesn't know what to make of it. Has her opinion of him being a werewolf somehow changed? Has everyone's?

A throat clears. "No, no, it's all right, it's, ah, it's my fault. I didn't know it was you. You startled me for a moment."

She's lying. It isn't a very good lie and his eyes fall to her face, which is flushed. She's fidgeting too, and there's something in his chest that has nails filed to the cutting point, thin and sharp. He takes a breath.

Ginger and raspberries, with something else, something like earth, encased inside.

"Well, at least we know you still love us," Lily jokes, and Remus turns, noting James and Sirius with wands in their hands, and then his eyes go wide because she's _huge._ Her belly's a beach ball, and she's standing leaning against James with one hand on her back. Remus's mouth falls open and Lily's eyes narrow to slits.

"Don't you dare make a single comment, Remus Lupin," she growls, and suddenly Remus is laughing because it's normal. She's normal.

Nobody else is.

He can't remember the last time he'd laughed.

"I was just going to say that you're beautiful," he grins, and Lily's expression melts. In contrast, James scowls.

"Why does he get a positive reaction when he compliments you and I get a snap and a black look?"

"He didn't get me in this state, did he?" Lily retorts haughtily, pulling away from her husband. She begins towards Remus ( _lumbers,_ Remus thinks, but decides is wise to continue keeping to himself), pulling him in for a hug when he hurries to meet her.

"You've got a lot of explaining to do," she murmurs in his ear, and Remus sighs.

"What if I can't explain?" he murmurs back. Lily doesn't answer, instead letting him go and taking his hands. He panics when he realizes where she's trying to take them. Christ, what if he hurts it? Him?

A chuckle turns his head and hands take his resisting ones. "It's the miracle of life, Remus. Touch and gush now, while it's still a miracle and not a squalling, smelly, endlessly demanding humanoid."

Lily splutters. "My son will _not_ be smelly!" she cries, glaring at Hermione. The witch rolls her eyes and spreads Remus's hands across the beach ball. Lily gasps an "oh!" and the wizard crouching in front of her goes very still, eyes locked on his hands.

It's rippling. Flowing in waves under her sweater, punching Remus's palms, tapping along his fingers. It's Harry in there, he can feel Prongs's son, and it's astounding. Remus swallows heavily and looks up at the green eyes watching him.

"I'm sorry."

Lily smiles, and though the tension is still fair pumping from James and Sirius (where's Peter?), he feels some of his own anxiety drain. Hermione grins at him and pats his shoulder, and he slowly stands up.

He's still touching her stomach when everything happens. Lily let's out another "oh!" and this time she bends at the waist with it, and her beach ball's _clenching._ James is at her side within the next breath.

"Love? Is it time?"

"Oh God. I-I think so... James!"

"S'all right, I got you. Okay. Okay, okay, fuck. Hermione, um, the healer?"

"On it," Hermione says as she turns and heads for the floo. "Take her to the bedroom, I'll be there in a minute."

"Right. Right. You can move, Lils? Shall I pick you up?"

"Try it, Potter, and this'll be the last kid you ever have! I'm in labour, not dying!"

She turns and shuffles down the hallway, James hovering around her, and Remus is alone with a silent Sirius and Hermione speaking into the floo, the witch eventually moving back to let the healer through.

"Looks like he was waiting for you," she comments as she and the healer pass him on the way to the bedroom, and she's grinning, but it's strained, fake, trying far too hard, none of the easy camaraderie from months or even moments before. Unease curdles in his stomach.

There's something more going on here than just his friends not liking him being away so long.

Remus doesn't take the chance to question this sudden knowledge over the next fourteen hours. It doesn't seem like the right time to ask Sirius what's going on, or even Peter when he finally apparates into the kitchen three hours into the screaming and swearing and panting coming from the bedroom. The three wizards sit at the table and wait, and Sirius's eyes on Remus are an x-ray. Constantly. When he does speak to him, it's cryptic, biting remarks.

The tension folds itself into Remus's blood and makes it buzz. Then, on July 31st, at 5:26 am, the angry cry of a newborn pierces the silence. All three men stand up and ten minutes later James stumbles into the kitchen.

"I have a son," he mutters, and his legs give out. Sirius catches him before he collapses completely and hugs him tight. James's shoulders heave, once, twice, and then he's climbing from Sirius's arms, and his face is _ecstatic._

"I have a son!" he shouts. Sirius barks a laugh and hugs him again, and Peter is slapping him on the back, and Remus's smile is oceans-wide, and it's automatic to walk over and hug him himself. James's arms are slow in lifting, but they do rise, and the relief Remus feels nearly brings him to _his_ knees.

Sirius scowls. The expression doesn't leave his face until they pile into the bedroom, James whispering loudly that they need to keep it down as Lily's asleep. All attention turns to the cradle by the bed, and the baby's swaddled so you can't see much of him, but what you can see is wrinkly, and red, and alien, and _tiny_ , and simply amazing. An extra chamber in Remus's heart opens, and he walks over on careful feet, his hand reaching out but pausing before making contact with the so very little human being.

"That's my godson," Sirius says, and there's absolutely nothing in his voice to indicate it's a warning. But Remus looks up.

"It is." And then he's stepping back and letting Sirius, Peter and James in, and it feels like he's on the outside, hanging around the edges, not quite included where he's always been included before. It makes the unease bubble up, and when he glances over at the head of the cradle and meets chocolate brown eyes that are studying him intently, the unease grows worse.

It doesn't go away for seven months. Remus can't answer the questions that are always there in Sirius's eyes, and Hermione's, and he finds he's too afraid to question why they're there in the first place. Lily never questions, and James is tentative for a while, but eventually he relaxes and it's as normal as it can be with Sirius treating him like a pariah. Peter's all over the place when he's around, which isn't often at all. Lily says it's because his mother is sick and his girlfriend demands all of the attention he's not giving to that.

There's a different, separate quality to some of the questions in Hermione's eyes. Remus doesn't know what it is, and it doesn't hang around long, fading a week or so after Harry's born, and then there's disappointment there. And hurt. He can't make sense of it, and once again his insecurities prevent him from investigating further. So he pretends that the constant pressure surrounding them all is caused by the escalating war and the Order missions everyone but him goes on. It's uncomfortable and affords him very little sleep, and it makes the moons worse instead of better, so much so that at times he's wishes his friends didn't accompany him on those nights. The only time he's not on edge is when he's with Lily and Harry.

The baby's a joy. Remus loves him with everything he has in him. He feels years younger in Harry Potter's presence, and it shows in the carefree laughter, and in the lines on his face smoothing out. James is more himself when Remus is around Harry as well, and when Sirius is there, holding back any visible mistrust for the sake of Lily and the baby, it's almost, _almost_ , like happier times. Remus has hope.

Then Dumbledore throws that hope out the window.

"You want me to go back," Remus says flatly, not a question, one afternoon when the headmaster calls him to Hogwarts. The old wizard sighs and nods his head, looking forlorn.

"I'm truly sorry, Remus, but new, very important information has come to light, and we need to know as much about Voldemort's movements as possible. I wouldn't ask you if there was any other way."

 _But you're not asking, are you?_ Remus thinks, mind dull. He listens, resigned, as the Order's leader outlines ways for him to stay healthy and whole and him while with the packs, and less than a day later, he's packed up what little he has in his room in Lily and James's flat.

There isn't much there to begin with. Remus grimaces and leaves the room, not at all looking forward to what comes next. His footsteps are loud in the carpeted hallway and the voices in the kitchen cut off.

He looks from person to person and _knows_ something's happening that doesn't have anything to do with him leaving.

"You're going back."

Her voice is the same as his was when Dumbledore told him what he needed to do. Remus swallows and looks over to meet eyes that haven't shown him true friendship in months. There's always an underlining quality in them, always those questions; questions that are screaming at him now.

"Yes," he says, and everyone's faces, James', Sirius's, Hermione's, and even Lily's, shut down.

"Why?"

"Because I have to."

"You don't," James says with the force of a dart. His arms are wrapped around Lily and Harry and his eyes are mutinous. "You can stay here."

Remus wonders when they figured it out. His chest feels empty and his hand shakes as he runs it through his hair. He'd always known they'd hate him doing this. "I can't. I'm needed. I don't have a choice."

"There's _always_ a choice, Remus!" Hermione snaps, and his head whips towards her to see her eyes wet and fury rolling off her in waves. "You _don't_ have to do this! You _don't_ have to make yourself into a monster!"

The laughter takes even Remus by surprise. It flows from him like it's never going to end, and then it does, dying into something that sounds a lot like a sob. "A monster? A _monster_? For fuck's sake, Hermione, I already _am_ one! It's what allows me to do this! You should be grateful!"

There's dead silence. Then, Sirius explodes.

"Grateful?! You fucking bastard, I'll kill you!"

He rushes towards Remus, and Lily shouts "no!", and Harry's crying, and Hermione gets in his way, and Remus apparates. He feels nothing when his handler hands him the portkey.

~0~

It takes six months to find them. They're not in Denmark anymore, and Remus lives rough as he tracks them over the Continent. He's back in England when he does find them, and it's a nonstop fight, a bloody, endless battle, because he's been away for thirteen months and he's no longer considered part of the pack. He's at the bottom of the ladder again, privy to nothing, and he stays that way for two months.

His quest is made pointless at Hallowe'en.

He hears along with everyone else. The news filters through the packs and Remus sits as still as stone, blank-minded and screaming-hearted, because it can't be true. It _can't_ be. The world rejoices and hails Harry Potter a hero, and forgets about Lily and James, because the You-Know-Who's vanished and all is now right in the world.

They don't linger on the deaths of Harry's parents. But Remus does, and on the death of Peter, and on the fact that there was a traitor he never knew about and that it was Sirius all along. _Sirius._ He never knew about Voldemort targeting the Potters, or about the Fidelius, and it _destroys_ him to know that the last thing he said to Lily, and to James, was in the form of an argument.

They died thinking the worst of him.

The pain in his chest blooms savagely, and he flees from the packs, ending up God knows where, and his screaming heart takes voice as he bellows at the sky until his voice gives out and he falls to the ground in a trembling, weeping heap.

His brain is repeating a single name when he's able to function again. He doesn't think of fighting and allegations, he just knows he needs her. So he apparates to her flat.

She's standing in the middle of her bedroom with her head in her hands.

"Hermione."

It's a whisper that brings her head up when the sound of appiration didn't. She jolts when she sees him. Her eyes are wild.

"No, no, Remus, you can't be here! Go, please go, please! Leave! I can't do this with you here! Go away! Please!"

Her voice is breaking and Remus goes to her without a word. She fights him, slapping at his arms and trying to push him away, but his hold is firm, and then she's crying heavy, choking tears, from deep inside her, and repeating "we thought it was you," over and over. They sink to the floor, and Remus rocks her and grieves right along with her, his own body shaking. It's an unknown amount of time before either can pull away.

Her face is red and swollen when she looks into his. His thumb brushes over her cheek, and her eyes are drowning in sorrow, and something just _clicks_.

The epiphany is soft, gentle, a quiet nudge in the right direction to make it all fit, and it doesn't take him by surprise at all. Not really. Because of course this is the way it's supposed to be. This is the way it's always been, even when it wasn't. It's been there all along, a certainty, buoyant and absolute, and he doesn't understand why he's only seeing it now. Is he really that blind?

It would be the most natural thing in the world to lean down and kiss her. So he does. And he thinks that maybe magic has more than one form as he slowly takes her mouth, because this is magical. She's magical. She's perfect and he kisses her, dancing his tongue over hers, drawing back and sipping from her lips, exploring her and her taste thoroughly, and wanting more. Needing more. His fingers are pressing hard into her cheeks and she's letting out little sounds that are intoxicating him, and she's kissing him back like he's going to die tomorrow, and there's a single thought shining through the need clouding his mind and thundering through his blood.

 _This is home._

And then she's sobbing again. The desolate sound breaks through the lust-induced haze and Remus's eyes open, and she's suddenly jerking away from him, hiccupping and breath hitching and hands once more over her face. Her shoulders are shaking with the force of her tears. Remus swallows hard and reaches for her, tentatively touching her shoulder. He's a little bit baffled.

In all the darkness and death, something amazing's just happened. Why is it making her cry?

"Hermione?"

Her hands fall at the sound of his voice, and her face is flushed spotchy, and she's _furious_.

"Damn you, Remus Lupin! Why now? Why did you have to do this _now_? Why couldn't you have done it months ago, _years_ ago, when it would've been real? Are you trying to break my heart more?"

Her anger blows through him, leaving him scrambling for purchase. Brow furrowing, his hand falls from her shoulder. "I don't understand. It is real."

"No! No, it's not!" Hermione cries, swiping at her cheeks and stepping back from him. "Not now! Peter and James and Lily, they've j-just... you just want comfort and I'm familiar! I'm the o-only one left! Of course you'll look for it from me!"

Her arms are wrapped around herself. Her chin lifts.

"Well, I'm not going to let it happen! I won't! I can't handle... I'm leaving! I'm leaving, Remus, for good! I was leaving before you got here, and you doing this isn't going to change my mind!"

She's shrill, and resolute, and looking at him with fierce eyes, and the floor drops out from under the werewolf. He stares at her while his heart begins to shrivel and dry, crumbling steadily in his chest.

"You're leaving," he finally whispers, and maybe his tone isn't what she's expecting, because he can physically see the anger drain from her at his words. She sighs and the distance between them could be worlds.

The gulf is wide and dark, and fucking _bottomless_ , and it's tearing him to pieces.

"I have to," she says in a voice that's a hollow echo of the Hermione of the past. "I don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," he murmurs, repeating her words back at her, just as she did with him. She presses her lips together and shakes her head. She's focusing on the floor and her body's scrunched up like a pretzel.

"N-not this time. I have to... I have to go. I have to. I can't... I have to go."

She won't look at him. Remus's hands spasm at his sides, then ball. His chest is a knot. He's handed her his heart and she's thrown it back at him.

She doesn't want him.

"So go," he says, and her head snaps up, and her eyes are round and wet, and a sob explodes from her chest, and then with a twist on the spot and a _crack_ she's gone, leaving a hint of thorny marigold in her wake.

He stares blankly at the empty air she leaves behind, and it's a very long time before he can make himself move.

~0~

Time ceases to have meaning again. Remus moves through his life on autopilot. He's alone, more alone than he's ever been, ever thought he'd be, and that's just how it is. He readily accepts Dumbledore's assurances that Harry's safe and cared for, a little voice in the back of his mind whispering that maybe he's accepting it too readily, and hurt, anger and stubborn pride prevent him from searching for Hermione. He's listless, it's easy to fall into the mind-set that both are better off without him, and weeks, then months, then years pass.

Nothing changes. He gets meaningless, low-paying job after meaningless, low-paying job, always having to drop them after a varying amount of torturous full moons, before he gets fired in the muggle world or they figure out what he is in the wizarding world. Somewhere along the way he hears of a newly-invented potion that helps alleviate the symptoms of lycanthropy, and he tries to dredge up enough enthusiasm to find the money for it, but in the end it's too hard. The Dark Lord is dead and gone, the people he's terrorized move on, and it feels like he's being left behind.

Always on the back foot, running, trying desperately to catch up. Then he's not. He no longer has the will to reach.

The first stirrings of interest in over a decade spark to life in his breast, when Dumbledore makes an offer while visiting him at his little ramshackle cottage in Yorkshire. He gawks at the old man, perplexed.

"You want me to teach? Why?"

Dumbledore smiles. "I thought you might enjoy it. You aren't doing much around here, are you?" He glances around the dreary-looking sitting room, then turns back to Remus with a benign expression. The younger wizard barely stops himself from squirming. He feels like he's been caught in a prank. "Besides," the headmaster continues, "with Sirius Black escaping Azkaban-"

" _What_?" Remus barks, sitting bolt upright. "He's escaped? That's impossible!"

"Nothing is impossible, Remus, my boy," Dumbledore says, peering over his half-moon glasses at the slightly panicked werewolf. "Didn't you know? It's been in all the papers."

"I don't get the papers. When did this happen?"

"Not too long ago. I thought you might like to be at the school to help keep an extra eye on Harry. Not that Mr Black will be getting anywhere near him, mind you, but having someone around who knows his every move might be beneficial."

"Yes, you're right," Remus agrees absently. His mind is spinning. If Sirius goes after Harry... "Of course I'll come. I'm guessing it'll be the same, er, precautions as last time?"

Dumbledore nods, looking pleased. "The Shack is yours as always, although I do believe that with wolfsbane, you won't need it. I'll arrange for Severus to start making it for you as soon as possible. Would you care to travel on the Express on September 1st? The ministry has set up certain defensive tactics that I don't much approve of. It would help to have someone on board who can handle a wand."

 _Severus? Severus Snape? Is he a professor now? Merlin help those children._ "If that's what you want, I'm fine with that. But, Professor, you don't need to go to the trouble of getting wolfsbane made for me. I can provide my own." _Somehow._

"I know you can, Remus," Dumbledore agrees, the deliberately _non_ -disagreeing look in his eyes saying something entirely different, "but why should you have to, when we have a perfectly capable Potions Master on staff? You must well remember that Mr Snape loves to brew."

Remus murmurs in assent, and relief's trickling through his chest. Wolfsbane. He's going to get it. He knows it won't take away the pain of the transformations, but just the thought of keeping his human mind...

It abruptly occurs to him how daft he's been for not finding a way, _any_ way, of getting a hold of it sooner.

"Thank you, sir."

"Think nothing of it. And you're a colleague now, my boy. Please, call me Albus."

Dumbledore leaves not long after, and a month later Remus is sitting on the Hogwarts Express long before any of the students arrive. Memories are playing on repeat in his head, making it hard to breathe, and he's nervous because he's never taught anyone except for tutoring Peter and he doesn't know if he'll be good at it or not, and he's even more nervous because it's the day of the full moon and it's the first time he's ever _wanted_ it to happen.

He's never placed so much hope in a potion before. What if the wolfsbane doesn't work?

Dragging in a breath that does nothing for his squeezed-tight lungs, he settles back and lets the pre-moon exhaustion take him, as much as it can with his bones humming painfully. The train fills and thankfully no one enters the carriage he's claimed – until the door slides to the side and he's hit smack in the face with earth.

Remus's eyes fly open and he's _sitting right there._ Across from him, talking to a redheaded boy who smells like pepper and plastic, and fuck if he doesn't look exactly like James. Same perpetually messy black hair, same facial structure, same build. He knows this already, he looked like James as an infant after all, but it's much more defined now. It robs Remus of the ability to do anything but gaze at him in shock, robs him of the ability to _think_ , and it isn't until the train hits a rough patch and the coat covering him slips further down that he's startled to his senses. He blinks and swallows around the rock in his throat, silently thankful neither boy has noticed he's awake.

Harry. James and Lily's son, who he hasn't seen since he was seven months old. It physically hurts to look at him, but he feels like something unravels inside him at the same time, as if he's been carrying around a ball of something's-missing, and now it's gone. Because he's here, in front of him, and he's safe, and why, why, _why_ has he never made himself an integral part of this boy's life?

He's a fucking coward. And it's going to stop.

The thought sinks into him. He's about to open his mouth to speak to Harry when the train lurches to a stop, and Remus soon finds out what the ministy's 'defensive tactics' are. The sucking cold and hollowness takes a moment to overcome when the Dementor comes to the door, but Harry's on the floor, his face lined with pain, and the werewolf struggles to his feet and raises his wand. He can only produce a shield, but it does what it's supposed to do, and then he's on his knees next to Harry and reviving the boy, and it rips at his middle to see bright green eyes staring up at him. He shoves the past and the pain away and pulls the last of his affliction-battling chocolate from his robes.

"Eat it all," he says, helping the boy sit up and getting to his feet. He needs to see if anyone else has experienced such adverse effects. "You'll feel better, I promise."

Harry nods and takes a bite, and Remus smiles warmly and turns to the door. He opens it just as someone else does and the young girl runs right into him. It's only his hands that prevent her from falling, and as he sets her on her feet, daffodils and darjeeling tea assault his senses and capture his attention.

He takes her in in one fell swoop. What he sees stops his breath.

Bushy, dark brown hair. A delicate face. Too-large front teeth, and eyes that should be, _should be_ , chocolate brown, but aren't. They aren't.

Because those are Sirius's slate-grey eyes.

 _She has Sirius's eyes._

"Merlin, I'm sorry, sir, I didn't see you! Are you a professor? You are, aren't you? I'm Ella Granger and this is my first year. I can't wait to start! What do you teach? You'll be teaching me, won't you? Oh, is Harry Potter in here? Harry! What are you doing on the ground? Excuse me, Professor."

Her head cocks when she wants to know something, and she grins when she's done and moves around him, and Remus's heart, that time and distance has somehow managed to painstakingly piece back together, busts through the builders' tape holding the thick cracks aligned and tumbles in large chunks onto the Express's wooden panel floor.


	6. Like a Stranger

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** All legal rights go to the rightful owner, which sadly is not me.

 **A/N –** First chapter written on my new laptop! It's a thing of beauty, this machine! Hehe! ;) Anyway, shorter chapter this time, because I didn't realize that the last chapter was on the plus side of 6500 words until I uploaded it to Doc Manager (the laptop I borrowed had a weird, and likely old, word processor on it that didn't have a word count), and because the ending is where the chapter wanted to stop, lol. Do enjoy, good people!

 _Her head cocks when she wants to know something, and she grins when she's done and moves around him, and Remus's heart, that time and distance has somehow managed to painstakingly piece back together, busts through the builders' tape holding the thick cracks aligned and tumbles in large chunks onto the Express's wooden panel floor._

* * *

 **Chapter Six: Like a Stranger**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

The full moon passes with a reinforced silencing charm, breaking and reforming bones, and then a human mind within a werewolf body, in his personal quarters at Hogwarts. Remus angles his head down to look at his form, briefly distracted from his churning thoughts by the horror and wonder of seeing his other half and understanding it as a human for the first time. He gets up from where he's collapsed on the floor and circles slowly once, then twice, pausing when the thought that he's chasing his tail much like he's seen Padfoot do many time in the past flits through his head.

Padfoot. Ella. Hermione.

All of a sudden he feels old, and tired. Confused. His chest aches and so many questions spin continuously, on replay, through his head; questions that after their breakup in school, he thought he'd never have to ask, let alone wonder about in the first place. A whine escapes, and his ears go back, and he finds himself padding to and fro, his nails clinking on the stone floor.

Both distinctly canine sounds startle him enough to stop his pacing, but they don't stop the jumble of thoughts and feelings. Remus sighs, which comes out as a huffy burst of air, and he settles down with his back legs folded up, his tail curled and his head on his paws. Closing his eyes, he lies and waits for the moon to sink. It seems to take an abnormally long time.

In the morning, after the howls have turned to screams, and then whimpers and groans, and he's naked and trembling in a ball on the floor but human again, he drags himself to his feet and stumbles his way over to the pile of clothes folded in a neat pile on the bed.

He needs to speak to Dumbledore.

~0~

"Remus," the headmaster says, tone sprinkled with surprise when the new professor steps through the floo and into his office. It's early, just after sunrise, but the old wizard is dressed and sitting behind his desk, a floating quill pausing and hovering over a stack of parchment when he looks over at the flare of green fire. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit? You should be in bed recovering. How did you're first moon on wolfsbane go?"

Remus stops at the hearth, not venturing any further. His muscles are vibrating with the leftover strain of the transformation, and he knows if he doesn't find a soft surface soon, his body won't care if the surface is soft at all. But he needs to get this out.

He needs to know.

"Ella Granger," he croaks, and the ever-present twinkle dims somewhat in faded blue eyes. He sends Remus a gentle smile.

"Ah, yes, young Miss Elizabeth-"

"Elizabeth?"

"Elizabeth is her given name; Ella is a nickname. I believe the youngster finds it too old fashioned and stuffy for her tastes."

Remus stares at the man. There's a hot, molten feeling beginning to stir in his belly, lifting its head and yawning to show sharply pointed teeth. His hands clench at his sides. "How do you know this?"

"Hermione told me, my boy," Dumbledore says, and the feeling gets to its feet and growls, rumbling low, almost audible. The headmaster's eyes sharpen. "I've kept in contact with her over the years, as I do with all of the surviving Order members. I assumed you were doing the same."

Not many people have the ability to hide a reprimand and make it stunningly clear at the same time. The hotness inside Remus shrinks back at Dumbledore's words, and a slick, oily guilt bubbles up and spreads through his gut, making it burn for another reason. He grits his teeth against the feeling and straightens his spine. He's not a child and he doesn't appreciate being spoken to like one.

"Where is she?" he asks through those gritted teeth. It's a moment before the headmaster answers.

"She's staying in Hogsmeade for the time being," Dumbledore replies calmly, hands laced together on the desk in front of him. The quill is still hovering next to his elbow. "I suggest you get some sleep before you go see her, Remus."

"I no longer have to heed your suggestions, Albus," Remus answers with more than a little bite in his voice, and the old man's brows wing. The werewolf turns back to the floo, and a second later he's back in his quarters and heading for the door. It's still early enough that breakfast hasn't begun, so he makes his way through an empty school until he gets to the one-eyed witch statue by his new classroom. A tap of his wand and a whisper of " _dissendium_ " opens the passageway, and then he's loping through the tunnel, climbing up into and sneaking out of a closed Honeyduke's with practised ease.

Dumbledore didn't mention where Hermione's staying, but he figures that if she's only _staying,_ then she'd be at the Three Broomsticks. He heads towards the inn.

"Remus Lupin, as I live and breathe," Rosmerta exclaims with a surprised smile when she answers his frantic knocking. "What are you doing here? It's bloody early, son. You can't be up for a pint at this time of the morning."

"No, Rosmerta, I actually think he's here to see me."

Marigold drifts through the doorway and winds its way through Remus's head, making his breath stop. Slowly, he turns, and seeing her for the first time in twelve years is a solid, desperately painful punch in the gut.

She hasn't changed. Sitting at a table with a steaming mug of tea in front of her, her bushy curls long and wild, falling down her back, she's still as beautiful as the day she left. The signs of passing years are there, around her eyes and in her barely fuller figure, but all they do is add grace and charm, and fuck if they don't make her all the more alluring. Her lips are pink and parted, and her eyes are wide and locked on him, and Remus physically _aches_ to go over and pull her into his arms. Where she belongs.

But he can't. She isn't his. He isn't even sure if there's friendship between them anymore.

"Are you?" she asks, voice soft, and Remus blinks back to reality. He nods mutely, tongue-tied. Hermione sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and nods herself. He can see the tension in her shoulders.

"All right, come on then," she says and gets up, leaving her tea where it is. Her voice is still no louder than a murmur, and as Remus hesitates and then follows, one careful step in front of the other, he takes in the way her fingers are plucking at the bottom of the loose shirt she's wearing over grey cotton tights. Her socked feet don't make a sound as she ascends the stairs, and when she stops at a closed door, her hand on the knob, he just catches the heavy breath that shudders out of her.

It shouldn't please so much him that she's nervous. But it does.

Hermione settles on one of the twin single beds once they enter the small, sparse room. Remus stops in the doorway, his eyes flicking from Hermione, to the bed she's sitting on in quick succession, and then he walks over to the tiny desk opposite the door and pulls out the chair. He turns it to face her and lowers himself, spine firmly against the back of the chair and hands resting tensely on his knees.

His head spins the instant he sits down, the blood rushing from it rapidly, making him see spots. He sucks in a slow, steady breath and blinks a couple of times, trying to discreetly clear his vision.

Bloody hell. He really should've taken some recuperation time, like Dumbledore suggested.

"You look good."

Her sudden statement distracts him. He swallows and forces himself to meet her eyes, the spots gradually fading. "I look old and grey," he corrects dryly. Hermione smiles and shakes her head.

"Not too much. Just around the edges." Her hand drifts towards him, stops mid-movement, then veers off to push her hair back behind her ear. A little colour tints her cheeks and her eyes dart to the wall behind him. "I, um, I think it makes you look distinguished."

Remus snorts quietly and then just looks at her, not able to do anything else. She's large as life. He's uncomfortable, and curious, and more eager than he's willing to admit, because he doesn't know her anymore. He doesn't know what to make of this Hermione; this woman who hasn't been in his life for over a decade, and who's had a child he didn't even know she was pregnant with. The thought makes him frown, and he opens his mouth, then closes it, frown deepening. Words and sentences have left the building.

The silence drenches the room. Then, Hermione sighs and her eyes move back to his. She looks very tired. "What are you doing in Hogsmeade, Remus?"

And as if the question had unlocked the padlock on his tongue, Remus speaks.

"I'm the new Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."

"You are?" Hermione blinks, and a smile slowly spreads across her face. "Why, that's perfect for you! Congratulations! Did Dumbledore tell you I was here? I don't live here normally, but with…"

Her voice trails off and her eyes go wide. Remus watches the colour drain from her face, and he keeps on speaking, the words running together.

"Dumbledore wanted me to take the train with the students, and I ended up running into a young girl while I was on it, a pretty little thing. Reminded me a lot of someone I grew up with. She did have one startling difference though."

"Her eyes," Hermione mutters, and Remus nods when the river of words dry up, studying her closely. She sinks her teeth into her lower lip and shifts on the bed, once again playing with the bottom of her shirt. Her gaze drops.

The silence is worse than before, so absolute it's as if the room is empty. Remus clenches his jaw. He needs to keep this going if he's going to get what he came here for.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Hermione's breath leaves her in a noisy rush. "I didn't have time to before, Remus, and then I couldn't bring myself to seek you out afterwards-"

"No, not that," Remus cuts in, waving a hand. "I know that. I mean, why didn't you tell me you were back together with Sirius?"

 _Is that the reason why you didn't want me?_

The witch's head flies up. "I wasn't!" she bursts out, eyes once again wide. "We aren't… we weren't… it was just one night! Marlene had just died and she and Sirius were… well, I don't know exactly _what_ they were, but they were something. He was angry and hurting, and was drinking to hide that, and I was feeling… we got drunk. We were _drunk_. It wouldn't have happened otherwise. We just… I guess we both just needed comfort in the familiar. We never talked about it afterward; hell, he wasn't even there when I woke up, but it went unspoken between us that it was just a one-off."

"Oh."

The rug's been pulled out from under him for the second time. In all the fretting and brooding he's done during the night, the thought of a one-night stand hadn't ever entered his head. He doesn't… he doesn't know how he feels about it.

He doesn't know how he feels, period.

"All right," he murmurs, pushing his confusion aside, "so, um, does Sirius…?"

The question riles up a hurricane.

"No!" Hermione nearly shouts, jerking to feet. "And he's not going to either! Why do you think I'm here? It's bad enough that he might be going after Harry! He doesn't deserve to know her, not after Lily and James!"

She stomps towards the other bed and then spins around, and Remus's heart begins to race. Her eyes are wet, and furiously hot, and so goddamn beautiful that they take his breath away.

It still utterly baffles him how he could miss seeing something so important for so many years. It probably always will.

"That fucking bastard all but killed them with his own hands, and you think I'd let me anywhere near _my_ daughter? He can go straight to hell! I'll put him there myself if he even thinks of laying a single _finger_ on Ella!"

"I agree," Remus says quietly, and the words take the wind out of his companions sails rather swiftly. She sags, then sniffs and brushes at her eyes.

"You do?"

"'Course I do. He's a traitor who had us all fooled, and who's actions got two of the people I love murdered. I'm behind you every step of the way in that regard."

Hermione sends him a small, weak smile and then settles back down on the bed. She sighs and pushes her hair back. "Not to mention the way he got everyone to focus on _you_ being the spy," she mutters, pulling her sleeves over the heel of her hands and then folding her fingers together, shoulders curved. "It's obvious how convenient that is now. Although you didn't do anything to make that impossible, did you?"

She turns her head in his direction, brow lifted and a smirk playing at her mouth, and Remus is walloped over the head with countless memories. His heart jerks in his chest, kerthumping solidly out of rhythm, and a flush rushes up his neck and into his face. His breath hisses out through his teeth, catching and making him cough, and the flush grows. Bloody hell, he sounds like a tea kettle.

"I _was_ a spy, just not the type you were thinking," he says after clearing his throat. Hermione grins and Remus has to look away.

"You're not upset? That we thought you'd betray… that we thought it was you?"

The question warrants some thought. Is he? It doesn't take long for him to figure out he isn't. It's natural, isn't it? Instinct on their part. He's a werewolf, a dark creature; of course his friends should think the worse of him. Even knowing as he's thinking those types of thoughts that they're wrong, it still doesn't make them right in any sense of the word.

He won't mention this to Hermione, however. He can just imagine her reaction if he did.

"You can't have been far along," he comments instead of answering the question. Hermione frowns but goes with it.

"Just over a month. I found out two days before- I was still getting my head around it, I wasn't even thinking about telling anyone else."

There's an entire world in the void left by her hanging sentence. The large, bulbous elephant in the room that they've both successfully ignored so far, trumpets loudly, stamping its feet. Remus's chest is _tight_ , and he stares at her, nervously licking his lips. They wait.

Dear Merlin, he wants her to bring it up. To give him hope. If she only left because she was pregnant with Sirius Black's child…

Is there still a sliver of a chance?

The seconds are eons, and then she breaks her almost painful immobility by shifting her body less than a centimetre away from him and dropping her eyes to the floor. "S-so you've seen Harry then?"

The sliver curls up on itself, a leaf blackening in a wildfire, disintegrating before his eyes. He doesn't move for a moment, and when he does, it's only to slowly nod his head. He can't move any faster.

"Yeah, on the train," he says, in such a low voice he's surprised she can still hear him. But he can't speak any louder either. He needs to be quiet; be careful. Any sudden movement will let loose that wildfire, and he's not ready to be consumed. "There were Dementors searching the compartments-"

"Excuse me?" Hermione barks, head snapping back towards him. "What the fuck were _Dementors_ doing on the Hogwarts Express?"

"Looking for Black," Remus replies in a flat voice, focusing on her shoulder. "Albus wanted me to travel that way because of it. I claimed a compartment before any of the students arrived, and Harry and another boy somehow managed to pick the very one I was in. Harry, er, didn't react well to the search."

"Is he okay?" the witch demands, half-rising to her feet again, as if she's going to storm the castle, "is Ella? Why the hell would they think Sirius would travel on a packed school train?"

"Ella wasn't in the compartment so I don't know how she initially reacted, but she seemed perfectly fine when I ran into her – or should I say, she ran into me. Harry's another story. He's better now, don't worry," Remus says hurriedly, looking at her face when she takes a step towards the door. "I made sure of it."

Hermione shoulders fall in relief and a smile lights her eyes. "Of course you did," she sighs, and Remus swallows heavily, finding the bed exceedingly interesting this time. There's a buzzing running through his blood; the wildfire. He needs to leave soon, before it causes him to do or say something he'll later regret.

He badly wants to shout at her, to demand answers he has no right to demand. The buzzing encourages him. It makes his head feel floaty. Pressing his lips together, he nails his attention on a fact that she's all but confirmed without saying the words.

"You know Harry. Personally."

Hermione's head tilts. She looks at him, and there's a significant space between her looking and her talking. "I do," she agrees finally. Remus can't read her eyes. "Pure coincidence, of course. Ella and I moved back to England when she was three, and we found a perfect little house on Wisteria Walk in Little Whinging. Quite convenient actually. A fixer-upper that came cheap not only because it needed a bit of work, but because it was right next door to a 'crazy cat lady', as the real estate agent called her. Lovely woman, despite the whiffy odour. It wasn't until I saw Harry scuffing around in her backyard that I found out she babysits him quite often."

Her voice is conversational, the delivery is flawless, and it's the biggest lie he's heard her tell so far. She's gotten a lot better at lying over the years, he can tell. It makes him wonder why she feels she needs to come up with the cover story.

Did she try and _take_ Harry once she'd come home from wherever she was? (Where was she?) Harry doesn't have a godmother; an archaic law crafted by purebloods demands that if a magical child is to have a full set of godparents, they need to be married. So although James wasn't a traditional pureblood – he'd married a muggleborn, for Merlin's sake – they'd still had to choose between one godfather or one godmother for the ministry to recognize the status. Sirius had come up trumps, for reasons Remus isn't wholly sure of.

If she _had_ tried to stake a claim on the Boy-Who-Lived, it makes sense that she'd been denied. She isn't Harry's blood or his rightful legal guardian. She would've understood being turned down, surely. But that doesn't explain the cover story, or what Remus can sense underlying it, poking through those nonexistent holes. He doesn't at all like the implication that she'd deliberately found a way to stay in Harry's life because he's needed her to.

Just what has Harry's life been like, living with his aunt and uncle?

The buzzing swarms him. There's bees in his blood, a great wave of them, the guilt on their wings suffocating. He's spent the last twelve years being a useless waste of space while Harry… while Harry…

Lily would be so disappointed.

He feels sick. Gasping and pushing to his feet, his heart slams, and the buzzing turns high-pitched and whiny, making his ears whoosh. His head is drowning. The world blurs.

"Remus? _Remus!_ "

The floor comes up to meet him, and then his body slams into nothing, a diagonal plank in mid-air. Her hands are cupping his face.

"For God's sake, Remus, you know what last night was! Did you come straight here after the sun rose? You're a right fool, aren't you?"

He's floating, gently. Then he's pressing against a soft mattress and marigold flows along his skin, and he sighs. Giving in, he has just enough energy left to bury his face into the thickly-scented pillow before the black edging his vision gathers into a solid mass and he sinks gratefully into unconsciousness.

He doesn't even have the chance to sink deep before he's dreaming about a familiar hand running softly through his hair, and lips ghosting, lingering, across his cheek.


	7. Like a Comrade

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

 **A/N –** Hello everyone! New chapter! Remember to come find me on tumblr to get a guaranteed reply if you have questions, and do let me know what you think! Enjoy! :D

 _He doesn't even have the chance to sink deep before he's dreaming about a familiar hand running softly through his hair, and lips ghosting, lingering, across his cheek._

* * *

 **Chapter Seven: Like a** **Comrade**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

He wakes with his nose still buried in marigold-scented material. The room is dark and empty; has been empty for some time by the feel of the air. Remus blinks into the pillow and then lifts his head, pressing his hands firmly into the mattress when it spins sickly, slowly, in one wide swoop before settling back where it should be. He swallows and his breath hisses out between his teeth, the blankets falling down to his waist as his arms lock in place

"You're awake."

Maybe it's because he's concentrating on his gradually calming stomach. Or maybe it's that he's slept with the marigold for so many hours that he can no longer tell the difference between old and fresh. Whatever it is, Remus doesn't hear the door open, let alone notice her scent. Her voice startles him so much that he jumps like a frightened rabbit and whips around with a high-pitched yelp.

Hermione's eyes are wide with surprise and just a touch of glee, something he hasn't seen in her gaze for longer than the years they've been apart. "Did I just manage to sneak up on you?"

"I… don't know. Possibly?" Remus returns. His voice is rough and he coughs to clear his throat, grimacing against the still seedy feeling crawling through his gut. It feels a lot like he's been on a three-day bender – or maybe a single evening of drinking himself daft after walking in on Sirius and the witch at the door having sex. The thought makes him feel worse and he eases himself back down with a groan, head pounding. At least the room isn't spinning anymore. A shadow falls over him and Remus finds himself squinting up at a familiar bushy mane.

Disapproval and concern war in Hermione's expression. "Why would you let the after-effects get so bad that they affect your senses? That's not safe at all, Remus."

"They don't usually affect my senses, do they?" the werewolf grumbles and closes his eyes. As with Dumbledore, the reprimand makes him feel like a young child who's done something wrong. It's uncomfortable and awkward, like much of his current relationship with his once best friend, the picture sliced through and slotted back together off kilter. So very off kilter. "I imagine it's probably a side-effect of the wolfsbane."

"You imagine? Shouldn't you know?"

One eye blinks open. "Not when it's the first time I've ever taken the potion," he says, and shock makes Hermione's face slacken before censure twists it into a glare. Her hands plant themselves on her hips.

"The first time you've taken it?" she snaps, staring daggers at him. "What do you mean it's the first time you've taken it? That potion's been available for years!"

"Yes, well, I'm not exactly rolling in dosh, am I? I couldn't afford the ruddy stuff," Remus retorts sharply, annoyed because he feels like shite and her ranting is familiar; painfully familiar. He almost wishes she'd go back to the quiet scolding from before. That didn't bring back memories that tightened his lungs in a brutal fashion.

"You're registered, Remus! You know the ministry helps with the cost if you need it!"

"I don't need the fucking _ministry's_ help! The moment I hand myself over to them I'll end up as some fucked-up science experiment! They yank enough of us around by the bollocks as it is, they're not getting their hands on me!"

His growl echoes through the room. Hermione blinks and takes a step back, and Remus sighs deeply, remorse adding to the exhaustion deadening his limbs. He's gotten angry before, obviously, but he's never shown it so vocally. Remus broods, he doesn't explode.

He's tired. He's just so tired, even after sleeping for Merlin knows how long, and he feels utterly wretched. He needs to get back to the school and start watching over Harry; start making up for significant past wrongs.

He needs to get away from Hermione until he can get his head and heart properly sorted.

"How long was I out?" he asks as he rubs at his temple and drags himself upright with a soft groan. He's not in any physical pain apart from the relentless headache, but his body's telling him he's hungover with zero alcohol in sight. He hates it.

"A bit under 24 hours."

Remus's head snaps around. "Really?" Hermione nods and he frowns, wondering if that's the wolfsbane as well. He's collapsed due to not resting after a moon before, but his record's closer to 12 hours. It's a little worrying. Is that going to happen every month?

How long will he be down if he listens to his body and sleeps the day after the transformation? It varies when he's not on the potion, depending on how badly hurt he is, but it's usually no more than a day because he can't stand to lay around for too long, wounds be damned. Thankfully none of his classes start until the following week, but he can't cancel class for two days every month!

He needs to speak to Dumbledore again. The realization makes him wince, and he carefully rises from the bed, Hermione stepping back further. Her eyes are locked on him.

"I have to go. Thank you for… for answering my questions and then taking care- giving me a place to sleep. I'll be in touch."

He walks towards the door and her voice stops him just as he's opening it.

"Will you?"

He can't decipher the tone in her voice. Her eyes are shuttered.

"Yes," he says, and Hermione turns away. Her back's very straight.

"I'll keep an eye out for the owl."

Not knowing how to interpret that, something that seems to be becoming a pattern, he stares at her back for a moment and then turns to the door.

"Don't neglect yourself again, Remus."

It's an order. He pauses and flicks a look back over his shoulder, but she's making the bed and not looking at him.

"I won't." And then he's descending the stairs and making his way through the still-empty pub, apparating to the school's entrance as soon as he steps into the street.

~0~

Ella Granger is a friendly, outgoing girl. Remus's eyes are drawn towards both her and Harry the morning before his first class, and it quickly becomes clear that Lily and James's son and the young first-year witch are close. It makes sense that they would be, growing up only a street or so apart and Ella living next to the woman who babysits Harry, but to Remus's surprise, the third-year wizard doesn't act like the younger girl is an annoyance of any kind. He's welcoming, all smiles, when Ella plops herself down next to him and the redheaded boy Remus learns is called Ron Weasley at the Gryffindor table.

The same can't be said for Ron. The young wizard scowls at her the moment she appears, and Remus's eyes narrow when his facial expressions suggest that he's saying something not particularly flattering. Harry frowns at Ron, but they're sitting right at the end of the table near the doors and the room is loud, so despite his enhanced senses Remus can't hear what they're saying without concentrating, which feels too intrusive. He watches instead, and his brows meet his hairline, a slow smile growing, when a blatantly sly smirk creeps across Ella's face.

She leans forward and says something back to Ron, and his face turns the colour of his hair, expression thunderous as Harry snorts into his porridge. The young girl throws him a smug look, then says something to Harry, gets up and leaves the Hall.

It's as she's leaving that Remus notices her tie is striped green and silver. The pumpkin juice he just taken a drink of sprays from his mouth onto the table in front of him, his chest seized with a rack of coughing. He gasps when a very large hand thumps him on the back, almost sprawling him across the table.

"All right there, Remus?"

"Fine, Hagrid," he rasps, picking himself back up and smiling wanly at the half-giant, "just went down the wrong way. Thank you."

"Glad t'help. Looking forward to yer first day?

"Quite," Remus murmurs, speculative gaze on the door. Ella's in Slytherin? That's… not what he's expecting. He knows the hat considered putting her mother in Ravenclaw, but Hermione hadn't ever mentioned Slytherin. As for Sirius…

He shuts that line of thinking down quickly, not wanting to think about his ex-best mate, and quickly finishes his breakfast. He shouldn't be assuming anyway. Just because two people from the same house procreate, doesn't mean their offspring will follow the trend.

 _Remus, you're not going to follow those two prats' poor example, are you? There's nothing wrong with Slytherin! Slytherin House emphasizes and exploits certain aspects of the person's character, just as Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff do! It's the person, not the house! Don't judge and alienate an entire group of people just because of the house they were sorted into during school! Make your own decisions after you've met and gotten to know those people!_

Lily's rant in third year isn't more than a tiresome rant at the time, one James and Sirius had scoffed at, but age is supposed to bring wisdom, and Remus knows now she's right. He's not going to assume the worst just because Hermione's daughter is Slytherin instead of Gryffindor.

A smile tugs at his lips and he turns back to Hagrid, listening as the Care of Magical Creatures professor rambles on. He's actually looking forward to meeting her.

He gets his chance that very day. Gryffindor third-years don't have a DADA lesson until later on in the week, but Slytherin first-years are his second class, right behind his NEWTs students. They share with Gryffindor, something Remus personally requests. He wants everyone on equal footing and what better way than to start right at the beginning with the deepest rivalry?

He's nervous again, even more so when a head of bushy hair that's darker than he originally thought takes a seat at the back of the class. Ella's eyes are bright. Her grin is brighter. Remus swallows his trepidation at teaching not only her but all these young ones (what if he does something wrong and buggers them up for life?), introduces himself and starts the lesson.

By the end of the hour he feels much better. There's the expected one-upmanship, learnt from family, friends and older house members, but most of the students are quite happily applying themselves to learning and executing the wand lighting and extinguishing charms.

"Practise _Lumos_ and _Nox_ as much as possible and have a five-inch essay on the reason why a light in the darkness is one of the best defences ready for our next class. Off you go then," he says as the students scramble to their feet. His eyes linger briefly on Ella, who's chatting excitedly to the girl next to her. He hasn't asked many questions during the class, knowing from experience that only a small number of students would've looked at, let alone read their textbooks before their first lesson, but her hand had been in the air for the ones he had asked.

Not as eager or as arrogant as Hermione. She answers correctly then doesn't radiate smugness. Rather, she'd seems simply pleased with herself. The only problem he has with her is that she just doesn't stop talking.

No filter. She speaks every thought. It could be a good or a bad thing; Remus won't know which until he gets to know her better.

"Professor Lupin?"

Speak of the devil. Daffodils and darjeeling tea floats across, and Remus stops shuffling parchment on his desk, turning to find the classroom has emptied out but for Ella. She's looking right at him, and it's startling and very disconcerting to see Sirius's eyes looking at him from this young girl's face. His heart slams once against his ribcage.

"Can I help you, Miss Granger?"

He winces in his head. Compared to during class, he sounds much too formal. Ella's forehead crinkles and then smooths out into a benign expression.

"What house were you in in school?"

Well, he isn't expecting that. Remus frowns. "Gryffindor. Why do you ask?"

"Just trying to sort out all this specific house traits hogwash," Ella explains, smiling politely. "Did you interact much with the other houses outside the classroom? I just want to know if it's worth my while looking for likeminded abroad."

"Not really," Remus answers slowly, eyeing her. Ella's demeanour shouts guilelessness. "We mainly stuck with our housemates. I don't think that's changed in the years since, although I do believe it's a good idea to expand one's horizons."

The young witch purses her lips in thought and opens her mouth. Outside the open window an owl hoots. Ella's brows draw down.

"All right, thank you, professor, I didn't mean to bother you," she says on a sigh, looking disgruntled. "I appreciate the advice. I didn't want to get a biased opinion so going to a prefect was out, and all the other teachers here are either old and stuck in their ways, or plain unapproachable. I'm glad I found someone willing to pander to my whims."

"You're very welcome," Remus replies, and Ella smiles, nods and heads for the classroom door. He lets her almost reach it.

"Miss Granger?"

She stops and looks back at him questionably.

"Learn not to lay it on so thick. A lie is always more believable when kept simple."

Surprise flickers through Ella's eyes and then the smirk he saw at breakfast appears. It looks much more natural than the squeaky-clean persona from moments before. "I'll do that."

Remus's stares at the empty doorway for some time after she's gone, mind turning over. Then, with a shake of his head, he starts getting ready for his next class. Unless it impacts on other students, what she's up to isn't really his business, is it?

~0~

Meeting Harry is a mess. He's harder to be around than Ella is, this infant turned boy he practically abandoned, and Remus doesn't know how to be around him. He doesn't know whether to act like a teacher and treat him like any other student, a replacement father (fuck, never that!), or just be a friend. It's confusing and distressing, and Remus finds himself contradicting the decision he made on the train and avoiding the boy until he hasn't got a choice.

He ignores the displeasure he imagines on Lily's face, the condemnation on James's, and the very real ire he'd see on Hermione's if she knew. He doesn't get in contact to tell her.

But being a teacher does help solve the issue, and in the classroom it's natural to act like Harry's just another young wizard he needs to give knowledge to. He doesn't focus on him and the class goes well – until the boy he's choosing to treat no different leaves the class with a disappointed look on his face.

That look doesn't sit right with Remus, and it isn't until the first Hogsmeade trip at Hallowe'en that he's able to sort the reason behind it. Harry asks to speak to him and the werewolf can't say no, despite feeling the full moon coming that night in his bones.

Not on that date.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named showing up in a classroom full of students would not be a good thing," he says when Harry explains, the green-eyed boy sitting in his office and drinking strong tea. Black with three sugars. The exact way Peter takes it.

Used to take it.

Remus sighs silently and wonders if he _will_ get a chance to confront Sirius. He doesn't know how he'll react if he does. He knows he told Hermione he'd be behind her every step of the way, and he's angry, he's very angry, but the betrayal's worse, and he doesn't really want to see Sirius at all because of it. Will seeing him be debilitating or give the anger the jolt it needs?

The thought slides away and he concentrates back on Harry when the boy mentions Dementors, ending up being impressed by the boy. Harry's an intelligent lad, down to earth and shockingly humble. From one conversation, stilted though it may be, it's clear he isn't at all like James. He isn't really like Lily either, although there's more of his mother in him than his father.

Harry Potter's his own person. It makes it easier to deal with him, and by the time the conversation's interrupted by the arrival of Severus with his last batch of wolfsbane, Remus feels much more at ease. He can tell that Harry does too.

The young wizard leaves shortly after, and after a bit of a pissing match with Snape, who hasn't changed at _all_ in the years since their time at school, Remus drinks the potion and settles down in his office. The moon passes as it always does – with one exception. There's a lot more traffic prowling outside his warded door than there usually is.

"Black tried to get into the Gryffindor common room last night," Minerva tells him grimly the next evening when Remus questions her as she's checking on him, knocking the wind from the werewolf's sails. The flutter of an owl's wings outside the window is loud in the weighty silence that follows her statement. "Shredded the Fat Lady's portrait when she wouldn't let him in. We've got teachers and older students trailing Harry as extra protection, but if you could…?"

"Of course," Remus murmurs, and when Minerva nods approvingly and leaves, his legs give out and he slides down the wall to crumple on the floor, head in his hands and lungs devoid of air.

Sirius would have known. He would've known that the night before was a full moon and Remus would've been tied up, so to speak. He chose right then to go after Harry _because_ he knew Remus wouldn't be around. He had to know Remus was at the school. His animagus senses are extremely good, he can't _not_ know.

It feels like… it feels like… sweet Merlin, his being here isn't _aiding_ Sirius somehow, is it? Maybe Harry knows Remus knew his parents in school, that they were friends. What if Harry thinks…?

The floo flares to life and Remus doesn't move until a hand lifts his chin. Brown eyes meet his and the air Remus thought wasn't anywhere near his lungs streams from them in a choked rush.

"Stop blaming yourself. What Sirius did is on him and _only_ on him. Harry's fine now, and he was fine all those years ago as well. You haven't let anyone down."

"I let Harry down," Remus whispers, and Hermione sighs heavily and sits back against the wall next to him, staring into the empty office. It's a moment or two before she speaks again.

"All right, yes, so you did," she says. Remus's head whips towards her, jaw unhinged, and Hermione's brow arches, a pointed look in her eyes. "What? You're the one who's so stuck on believing it. You didn't think I'd figure that out? My opinion at the moment doesn't matter, because I'm not going to convince you otherwise. So, yeah, since you won't see it any other way, let's go with you did abandon him. What are you going to do about it now?"

"I… I don't… what can I do about it now?"

"Well, you can stop moping about it for a start off," Hermione replies bluntly, turning back to survey the room. "Harry has no one but the Weasleys and us, Remus. Sure, he's got Dumbledore and the whole bloody wizarding world behind him, but we're the ones that matter. We're the one who care about _him_ , not what he can do for us. Wallowing in the past isn't protecting Harry now, or giving him the family he deserves to have. Forget about what you did when you were young and stupid and focus on _now._ All right?"

There's no owls now to break the silence. Remus stares at Hermione, who has her arms folded across her midriff and seems to be finding his office exceedingly interesting. Her words make sense, really, but he doesn't know if he can heed them.

Forget about the past? That's a lot easier said than done. So much happened back then, and he doesn't know if she means his non-interactions with Harry after James and Lily died, the guilt he feels about not seeing Sirius for who he really is, or his feelings for her and the kiss that she fled from.

Perhaps all three? She's still not looking at him. But her words _do_ make sense, and he can at least try, can't he?

"All right," he says softly, and Hermione's shoulders gradually sink before she smiles. She pats his arm and gets to her feet.

"Good. I should go. Why isn't your floo locked, by the way? You're a Defence professor and you leave it open for all and sundry to clamber through?"

She's scolding him again. This time it makes him grins, and Hermione smirks back, looking remarkably like her daughter. "I'll lock it when you leave, mum."

The smirk fades and Hermione scowls before she's suddenly smiling once more, politely and with little warmth. Remus wonders what he said to cause such a drastic change.

"I really do have to go. I want to check on Ella and Harry before nightfall. I still haven't seen any owls, Remus."

Her eyes flicker, companionship from times past there then gone, and then she's activating the floo and he's alone. Remus stays where he is on the floor, not as morose, but confused and a little frustrated, because she's frustrating. The whole situation's fucking frustrating. He sighs and spends the rest of the night grading papers, eyes continuously falling on the window that he doesn't want to close, searching the darkness for an old friend, black in shape and in name.

He curses the weakness that's preventing him from physically going to look for the traitor himself. For the first time in years he wishes he had still had the map.

He's no longer conflicted over how to deal with Sirius.

~0~

Remus is watching Harry play Quidditch in the pouring rain when he catches the scent of spice, leather and coal dust, low under the roaring blanket of noise and sweat and wet. The swarm of Dememtors invading the pitch obliterates the scent, but it was there, and Remus is too busy searching frantically for the source to realize something's wrong with the Gryffindor Seeker. People screaming catches his attention, and he sees a ragdoll falling from the sky.

His heart stops.

Suddenly the ragdoll slows and Dumbledore stows his wand as Harry gently touches the ground, still far too hard for Remus's liking. Sirius is forgotten and Remus lurks around the Hospital Wing entrance, not quite brave enough to go in. Harry _doesn't_ know about his relationship with his parents, he's worked that out, so why would a simple teacher show so much concern? His gut still twists whenever he looks at Harry, and he's decided that not getting close to the young Gryffindor is the best thing to do, having figured he can protect him without burdening the boy by involving himself in his personal life.

Deep down, he's terrified of Harry not _wanting_ him involved in his personal life.

"He's fine, he didn't get hurt. The Dementors made him pass out again."

Ella smiles serenely then heads down the corridor, the Hospital Wings doors swinging shut in her wake. Remus frowns after her. He knows he shouldn't be surprised that the Dementors affect Harry that much, they're his Boggart after all, but for some reason he is. The logical reason behind it makes him ill, and when Harry comes to him later and asks him to teach him the spell to repel a Dementor, he knows he's more willing than he should be. But Harry's looking at him with Lily's eyes and he looks so much like James, not to mention it'll help him and he really does _like_ the boy…

How can he say no?

Months pass with no sign of Sirius and lesson after lesson with Harry. Remus writes Hermione, just like he's promised, but the letter are more factual reports than anything else. He's never been good at making more than one thing important at a time, and at the moment (and beyond the moment), Harry's the most important thing. Ella hangs around, a fat, ginger cat coming and going, but Remus's priority is Harry. So he watches, and he teaches, and he confiscates the broom-shaped present that arrives out of nowhere for Harry at Christmas, promising to get it back to him if and when it's proved jinx-free.

Harry grumbles but he can't argue with a professor.

With the lessons come the realization that Remus can't continue to see the boy as just a student. Not anymore. Not after he gets to know him, and after Harry finds out who he was to Lily and James and vice versa. Harry's clever and sensible, and he's determined, and his success with his patronus is spotty at best. But he does have success. When Remus asks him what his memory is, the answer almost brings him to his knees.

"I don't think it's a memory as such," Harry says, grinning and happy, chomping down on Remus-provided chocolate, the Boggart back in the chest for the time being. "More a feeling, I guess. It's of… it's of my mum and dad and me. Together. From when I was a baby. Do you think it's an actual memory?"

The werewolf clears his throat and resists pressing the heel of his hand to his aching heart. "I- I don't know, Harry. It could be. Your parents… your parents loved you very much. Even if it isn't a memory, it's still a fine example. Use whatever works, lad."

Harry's grin widens, and that grin grows even more when he uses the patronus charm outside of practise for the first time and it actually works. The Dementors aren't real, but their defence is. Harry soars from the sky, ecstatic, and Remus wants nothing more than to tug him off the returned broom and hug him hard.

He's never been more proud.

The pride vanishes in a surging wave of fury when Sirius goes after Harry for the second time the same night. The Fat Lady's replacement confirms he let the madman into the common room, and Remus stands and shakes, anger tinging his vision, before he turns away from the other professors and walks out of the school, wand in hand.

A thought of times long past and his patronus is in front of him, awaiting instruction.

"Black went after Harry again. I'm going after him. Are you joining me?"

The silvery wolf runs into the distance and Remus heads toward the forest. The others can search the school as much as they like, but he knows Black won't be found there. The trees grow densely packed, the light of the stars fading, and Remus is standing in the Forbidden Forest, in the pitch black, so angry he isn't thinking straight.

"BLACK!"

The forest swallows his shout. There's no birds to quieten at the unexpected noise, and Remus waits, eyes constantly moving. Nothing answers him.

"BLACK! _SIRIUS_!"

Dead silence. If he didn't know the trees were around him, he would've thought he was standing in a void. Remus clenches his teeth and clenches his hand around his wand.

"PADFOOT, YOU FUCKING COWARD, COME OUT AND FACE ME!"

The forest holds its breath and then a branch snaps. Remus spins towards the sound and there's a disturbance in the utter emptiness of nothing around him. A shadow separates, then takes two padding steps forward.

"Sirius," Remus growls, a rumbling so like his creature counterpart that the shadow pauses. It's head lifts towards the sky. Remus smirks and stalks softly forward.

"It's in four days, fucker. Wrong time of the month to go after my cub."

Yellowing teeth flash in the dark and the shadow moves again, becoming more dog-shaped the closer it gets. Even through his anger, Remus is shocked at the state of his old schoolmate. Sirius is skin and bone. You can count his ribs and spine, large tufts of fur are missing, and his eyes are big and buggy, pupils pinpricks. He looks insane.

He is insane.

He stops two feet from Remus and crouches down. Remus finds himself doing the same. Rage crowds his head, and he glowers at the black dog, lips peeled back, fingers twitching on the handle of his wand.

He wants him dead. He wants him dead. He wants him _dead._

"You killed Lily and James."

Something floods the dog's eyes and his body seems to collapse in on itself, head lowering. A vicious growl vibrates in Remus's chest.

"I won't let you kill Harry."

The dog's head snaps up, Remus wand rises, and a loud screech invades the stillness. It's instinctive to investigate the noise, and Remus turns to look. There's a scrambling sound and when he turns back, wand still high, Sirius is gone.

He's _gone._

"Remus!" Hermione calls. Her footsteps approach, and Remus's wand falls from his shaking hand, adrenalin making him dizzy.

"I-I'm here."

"Remus! Are you all right? What happened? Did you find him?"

"Yes," the werewolf whispers, tremors travelling up his arms and shaking his body. "Yes, I did."

Then he gathers a startled Hermione up his arms and buries his face in her neck, sucking in lungful after lungful of anchoring marigold.


	8. Like a Confidant

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** No canon character or situation belongs to me. I make no money from this.

 **A/N –** Hello, my good readers! I'm pretty sure that this chapter marks the halfway point in our story, although don't quote me on that lol. Remember, I once said that it was going to be a three-shot. ;) Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think!

 _Then he gathers a startled Hermione up his arms and buries his face in her neck, sucking in lungful after lungful of anchoring marigold._

* * *

 **Chapter Eight: Like a Confidant**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

For a long time, her scent and the horror of what he almost did is all he can comprehend. He shakes in her arms, guilt pulsing through him with every beat of his heart, a solid, terrible gorge that strikes again and again. It's upsetting and confusing, because he shouldn't feel horrified. He _shouldn't._ Black went after Harry, would've killed him if he hadn't gotten the wrong bed. Why should he feel sick about seeking justice?

He sucks in a breath and fingers play along the back of his neck, scratching through the short hairs at his hairline. She doesn't say a thing but the action's repetitive, and slowly, much too fucking slowly, his emotions settle and he becomes aware that he's in Hermione's arms.

She's holding him.

 _He's in her arms._

He shifts a little as another emotion grows in his belly, something he hasn't felt, truly _felt,_ since he kissed her in her apartment on the day James and Lily died. Her skin is soft, and warm, the texture against his cheek making his brain scramble, his heart boom, and the gradual slope of her neck smoothing down into her shoulder just calls to him.

He wants his mouth there. He wants to taste that.

So he does.

His lips press, his teeth nip, the taste explodes in his mouth and makes his chest shake with a pleased rumble, and Hermione snaps away from him so fast, the air that follows her fleeing body slaps him in the face.

Remus flushes hotly, his now empty hands balling at his sides. "Shit. Um… sorry, I just… s-sorry."

"No, no, it's all right, the moon's soon," Hermione replies, head turned away and voice high. He can hear her heart racing in a mad flutter, and there's something else in the air; something that brings back bitingly sharp memories of deep moans, hand-mussed hair and rolling hips. Remus's breath catches and he takes a step forward.

"You said you found Sirius?"

The reminder's a bucket of icy water. His heated thoughts melt under it, and he blinks and wonders what the fuck he's doing, letting the moon affect him like this. She doesn't want him! She's never wanted him, and that's something he needs to get the fuck over, because she isn't ever going to be more than his friend. His best friend.

The only person he has left, besides a teenage boy who doesn't even really know what he means to him.

"Ah, yeah. He's g-gone now. I'm sorry."

"What for?" Hermione asks, finally turning to look at him. She sighs when she sees the confliction on his face. "For not being able to kill in cold blood? That's nothing to apologize for, Remus. He used to be your best mate."

 _You'd be able to do it,_ he thinks. He doesn't say it. "But I let him go, and he'll go after Harry again, and what if he finds out about Ella?"

Hermione's expression hardens. "I don't see that happening unless someone tells him, and frankly, who's going to do that? As for Harry, we'll just have to stick to him like glue. Catch the dog and send him back to Azkaban where he fucking belongs."

"Yeah," Remus breathes, sagging. The wind zips through the trees and he shivers. It's the middle of the night, four days out from the full moon, and he's just faced and _let go_ an enemy who used to be a very good friend. He feels like there's nothing left in him.

"Come on, let's get back to the castle and Harry," the witch suggests, and Remus nods. They both turn and make their way out of the forest, wands in hand.

"Did you see what made that noise?"

"What noise?" Hermione asks, glancing at him as the trees thin.

"There was a loud, eerie screech, you must have heard it. Black got away when… it sounded like a bird of some sort."

Hermione shrugs. "Probably was. You know that no one apart from maybe Dumbledore knows exactly what's in this forest."

"Yeah, but there were no animals around," Remus frowns. "At all. Then this one loud squawk. It's strange."

"I wouldn't worry about it. It stopped you becoming someone you're not, so whatever it was it has my thanks."

Her words seem strangely light, and Remus turns his head and studies at her, but there's nothing on her face to suggest a hidden meaning. By then they're nearly at Hogwarts' doors, and both stop when they see the person waiting there for them. Remus winces.

The look of disapproval on McGonagall's face still has the ability to twist his stomach up in knots.

"I take it you didn't find him?"

Remus and Hermione look at each other. "Er…"

"It's a good thing you didn't, Mr Lupin," Minerva steamrolls, folding her arms and pinning him with a look. "Do you think Mr Potter would enjoy losing someone else?"

"'Course he wouldn't, but-"

"Then I suggest you stop putting yourself in unnecessary danger. Catching Sirius Black is what those horrid creatures are here for. You're here to teach and protect, not to avenge."

The years are gone with her lecturing. Shame tugs at him and he looks down. "Sorry, Professor."

"So you should be," McGonagall huffs, unfolding her arms and stepping back. "You're off to check on him then?"

"Yes, Professor," Remus mutters, and the deputy headmistress nods, lips twitching somewhat reluctantly.

"You're just as good at that now as you were when we were students, ma'am."

"Oh, get on with you," Minerva grumbles and Hermione laughs and follows Remus into the school as if she belongs there as much as he does. They find the students once again camped out in the Great Hall, and it takes a moment for Remus to sort through the scents to pick up earth – and something sharper under it that he usually equates with Snape.

Resentment?

"He's angry. He wants it over and done with."

The shadows shift at the softly speaking voice and Remus looks down. He feels Hermione frown behind him.

"You should be asleep."

"You shouldn't even be here," Ella replies, looking up at her mum. "You're not a professor or a member of the school. The faculty's far too trusting."

"Just go to sleep, Ella. You've class in the morning."

The young girl is silent at that, and her grey eyes flick to Remus. "I'll try to stop him doing anything too Gryffindorish, but I can't be around all the time," she says, and then lies down and turns over. Remus watches her for a moment.

"Harry's a good kid. He'll think before he leaps, surely," Hermione mutters, leaning back against the wall.

 _Harry's James Potter's son._

Remus decides he needs to keep a closer eye on the boy in the future, for more reasons than one.

~0~

The map finds its way back into his possession in the most unexpected way. Seeing it insult Snape makes a hidden grin slide across his consciousness, but the shock and fear that Harry's using it to sneak out of the school and put himself in harm's way wipes out any amusement. Finding out what the young wizard's been up to brings Remus very, _very_ close to hitting him with the auror-grade tracking charm that Harry's father dug up (read: nicked from Charlus) during his youth, but the charm doesn't work unless the person its attached to doesn't know they're carrying it, and Remus won't betray his trust like that. Besides, he doesn't need to after confiscating the map.

He hides his pounding heart and sweating palms and lectures the boy before sending him on his way, then retreats to his rooms and opens the map for the first time in too long to count.

 _Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present: THE MARAUDER'S MAP_ _._

The memories are an endless bombardment. Remus's lungs squeeze _,_ _squeeze,_ and his voice cracks when he whispers "mischief managed." He procrastinates after that, only opening it occasionally when his conscience prompts him. He prefers to watch over Harry physically, so it isn't until a couple of months later that he notices something that just isn't possible.

It _isn't possible._

He runs across the lawns, too panicked to think of wolfsbane, to panicked to think of contacting Hermione, towards the Whomping Willow. The map shows the impossible and Black, Harry and Ron, the dot for Ella streaking off in the opposite direction, and time slows to a crawl.

He's running backwards. Is he running backwards? The distance is fields that endlessly expand, and his blood rushes, pumps, _tears_ through his body, heart booming in his throat. But then he's swiping up a stick and slamming the knot, and the dangerous tree that they planted to protect him, and protect the students _from_ him, freezes on the spot.

The tunnel hasn't changed. He hurries through it and makes his way through the destroyed house, shoving into the room the shouting's coming from. His wand is out and pointed at Sirius, and Sirius stares. He stares, and he stares, and then somehow, he laughs.

He _laughs._

Loud and uncontained, a sound the painfully thin and ragged body shouldn't be able to make. The anger and betrayal are huge, swamping him, and just for a second, Remus forgets about the impossible. It's the same as in the forest but different. This time he won't let him go.

His wand trembles.

"Do it," Black whispers, eyes wild, eager, and then he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head frantically, like a dog. "No, no, not now, not yet, later Moony. We have business to take care of first."

His head swings in a wide arc towards the ruined bed. Ron yells and the impossible squeaks, and Remus's attention, his focus, _his entire world_ , is the rat in the injured boy's hand.

"Peter."

Harry's speaking fast, bewildered, and Remus isn't quite sure what happens next. The need for revenge wipes his mind clean, the need to atone for blaming Sirius, wave upon wave of guilt. And Harry's expression changes, from hurt and disbelief, to shock, to horror, to anger and disgust, and Ron shoves the rodent away and scrambles back as best he can, and Sirius turn him human. Then Harry's speaking again, pleading, _pleading_ , and it's the only thing that stops the curse on the tip of Remus's tongue, the only thing that lowers Sirius's stolen wand.

They can't become what Harry's seen Sirius as all year. They can't. Not in front of James's son.

The pathetic rat-man grovels at Harry's feet, and in disgust Remus stuns him. The air's tight after that, crackling with tension; silent, so silent. Remus releases a vice-like breath that's been stuck in his lungs for years and levitates the unconscious traitor.

It's over.

"What now?"

The question's soft. Lost. The werewolf turns to his broken friend and tries to smile.

"Now we turn him in and see about getting you a pardon. Can you walk?"

"'Course I can," Sirius scoffs, eyes flicking to Harry, who's helping his mate and not looking at them. It seems deliberate and Remus sighs.

"One step at a time, Padfoot."

"Yeah," Sirius whispers, swallowing and looking away. "Yeah."

The trek back through the tunnel is mute. The questions and the thoughts and the worries hover above theirs heads as they walk, shouting at them, and Harry's gaze keeps wandering to Sirius plodding along next to him. Sirius meets his eyes occasionally and Remus actually sees the moment he gathers his courage.

"Harry, er, you know I'm your godfather, right?"

Harry looks up, nods, then quickly looks at the ground again. Something that could be the beginning of a smile twists Sirius's mouth. It looks painful on his skeletal features.

"So, um, that allows me to… I mean when I'm not an outlaw of course, I can… do you think you might w-want to come live with me?"

Harry stops, hunched over at the end of the tunnel, the night shining above him. Remus hitches Ron up higher and looks at Sirius, who's stopped too. They mirror each other in that moment, and Remus's never wanted a mirror to shatter more.

"Leave the Dursleys?" Harry whispers, eyes locked on the dirt under his feet.

"Yeah. O-only if you want to, I won't force into it if you don't want-"

"When can he be pardoned?" Harry cuts in, finally looking up, at Remus, green eyes suspiciously wet. A slow smile spreads across Remus's face.

"As soon as possible, lad."

Harry nods. "Hermione'll see to it," he says, and Sirius blinks rapidly. Remus inclines his head.

"I'm sure she will. Let's go now though, yeah? Your mate needs the Hospital Wing."

"Right, 'course, sorry Ron."

"S'all right, mate," the redhead croaks, and Remus waves his wand, levitating Peter up through the entrance.

It isn't until he goes through himself that he remembers the moon.

"Remus!" Sirius barks when the illumination washes over him and both Ron and Wormtail fall to the ground, the latter with a bone-rattling thump. "Remus, that potion! Did you take it? Harry, get back!"

It's worse. It's worse than it ever has been, maybe because he _didn't_ take that final dose of wolfsbane that Snape dropped off that morning. An electric current twitches through him and the pain is bright, so fucking bright, like the full, round moon, snapping and breaking and shrieking and _transforming_ , and his mind dies.

He screams, and his mind dies, and his screams are howls, high-pitched and echoing.

And the scents are _luscious._

The wolf's head turns to see two shocked, terrified boys, an empty patch of ground, a familiar-but-not woman standing in front of and shielding the boys, and a large black blur hurtling towards him.

~0~

Like a habit he'd thought he'd broken, Remus wakes in the Hospital Wing. His eyes stay closed as he comes back to consciousness, and it takes all of two seconds for him to wish he _wasn't_ conscious. His body thumps with pain, stretched and tired, knife-sharp and jagged, gushing through him over and over, and he can't help the moan that escapes.

"Poppy, he's awake!"

He thinks her names and it comes half-formed to his lips, like a sigh. "'Myoneeee."

"Shhh, don't talk. Poppy'll be here soon to take the pain away."

"'Arrrrrry," Remus groans, shifting in the bed. His eyes still won't open, but he's used to thinking through hurt and his brain is slowly firing. The worry makes the pain worse.

"He's fine. Sirius is fine, Ron's fine, Buckbeak's fine. Just rest, okay?"

 _Buckbeak?_ Remus thinks sluggishly just as footsteps approach and something is pressed against the edge of his mouth. After so many years of taking endless pain potions, Remus's body reacts automatically. His mouth opens and potion slides down his throat.

The relief is instantaneous. The pain ebbs, Remus sighs, and his eyelids flutter a little then blink open. Hermione's sitting at his bedside.

"Hey," she murmurs, smiling at him gently as Madam Pomfrey checks him over, pronounces him okay to have company for a short while, then retreats to her office. "Welcome back."

"Where's Harry? And Sirius?"

"Harry's in his dorm and Sirius is… Sirius is Merlin knows where. He's on the run," she clarifies when Remus frowns at her. His frown grows, and in a delayed reaction that always seems to happen when he doesn't actually want to remember, the memory of the previous night solidifies in his mind. His eyes widen in horror.

 _Snarling, snapping, foaming, needing, blood, blood, blood, mine!_

"Jesus, I didn't… I could've killed them!"

"But you didn't, Remus," Hermione says firmly, taking his hand and gripping it tightly. "Sirius distracted you. He stopped you."

 _Teeth, sharp claws, up high, screech, raking, hurt, snarl, barking, pack, pack, pack, pack, pain run!_

"Not just him," the werewolf mutters, trying to sort out the hazy images in his head. "There was… an owl?"

"An owl? Really?"

Her voice is bland; level. Too level. Remus eyes narrow, the darkly coloured barn owl with a white-mask face and shining, fiery dark eyes flaring violently at the wolf in his mind's eye. "Hermione, what did you do?"

A single brow cants. "Something that's years late. Don't worry about it, all right? It isn't important. What's important is… Remus, Peter got away."

Remus blinks and tries to focus on what she's just said, but it is actually pretty fucking important, what she's done, so it's all he can see. There's a rock in his stomach and his skin feels prickly. He can hear himself breathing and it's too loud. His head's a mess.

He doesn't know how he feels about this. How he _should_ feel about this. Because if she really has done what she's done, why are his moons still alone?

Are they that far gone?

His breath hisses through his teeth and pushes the thoughts away with a forceful shove. He can't dwell on it now.

"He got away?" he rasps, and Hermione nods, looking miserable.

"H-he did. I'm sorry. I… when I brought Harry and Sirius up to the castle after Ella found me and you transformed, I didn't know Peter was alive and that he was the traitor, not Sirius. We ran into Ella and Snape, and I told Snape to contact the ministry. It wasn't until after Harry came to that I learnt about Peter and Sirius. By then Fudge was already here and Snape had taken it upon himself to lie about being in the Shack and hearing Sirius confess to betraying Lily and James and killing Peter. The minister wouldn't listen to me dispute that because I wasn't an actual witness to what happened in the Shack, and he definitely wouldn't listen to Harry and Ron." Her face darkens. "Seems our dear minister wants a villain to publicly punish and prove he's still top-dog so much, he's not willing to listen to eyewitness accounts. He said Harry and Ron's statements couldn't be classified credible as they are 'clearly too young and too traumatized.' He sentenced Sirius to the Kiss."

His head is spinning. Remus presses the heel of his hand to his forehead and squints at the witch, panic curdling in his gut. There's a headache just beginning that isn't making the jumble of information easier to process.

"The Kiss? I thought you said he was all right!"

"He is!" Hermione hurries to assure him. "He's perfectly fine. He was rescued before it could happen." She pauses there and a mixture of pride, exasperation and deep displeasure floods her eyes. "My daughter got herself much more involved in that than I would've liked."

"Care to explain that?" Remus sighs when she doesn't elaborate further. Exhaustion is creeping quietly closer, and he isn't sure how much longer he can stay awake. Not to mention the pain potion won't last forever.

He wants to get the full story before the void drags him under again.

Hermione's brow crunches and her lips purse. With an exaggerated glance over her shoulder to make sure they're alone, she leans in. "My, ah… well, see, I had to take a leave of absence from the ministry to be here, but there was a project I couldn't leave behind, and Ella… the conniving little miss nicked it. I didn't realize until Dumbledore said something that didn't make any sense and she threw it around Harry's and her neck and they were gone."

"Hermione, you're not making any sense either. Nicked what?"

"Er. This."

With that, she reaches under her blouse and pulls out a tiny gold instrument hanging on a chain around her neck. Remus's exhaustion evaporates instantly.

"A time-turner?" he chokes, staring at the harmless looking thing. "They used a time-turner? Fuck, Hermione, that's dangerous!"

"I know that!" Hermione snaps, quickly tucking the devise back under her collar. "I had all sorts of wards up in the study where I was keeping it! I didn't expect an twelve-year-old girl to be able to get through the bloody things! She's her father's daughter more than I figured!"

"What are you even doing with a time-turner in the first place?" Remus demands, and watches her face shut down. He shakes his head. "Never mind. Unspeakable?"

"Yeah, I am," his visitor agrees, looking relieved. "Swedish trained. I transferred to the British ministry when we moved. I should never have taken it from the building, but I thought it was too important to leave behind. I had no idea Ella would be able to get her hands on it."

 _Never underestimate a Black,_ Remus thinks, suddenly bitter, that creeping fatigue stalking closer, climbing through the mist. He blows out a breath and contemplates the ceiling. "So they rescued him. And Sirius obviously saw her. Did he say anything?"

"Not to me, but then I didn't see him," Hermione mutters after a pregnant pause. "Ella hasn't mentioned anything beyond ringing Harry's praises at casting a patronus and claiming that riding on the back of a hippogriff is one of the best ways to fly."

Remus hums quietly. "Are you going to tell her?" he asks, and the _him_ lurks under the _her_ , highlighting the tense silence that tails his words.

"I don't- it's complicated, Remus."

"It is," he murmurs. The exhaustion abruptly springs and sucks at him, pulling his lids down. Hermione sighs.

"I'll let you sleep," she says, more of a whisper than anything, and Remus senses movement of her hand that never makes contact. The sounds of her leaving are distant, and he's nearly succumbed to the pull when a thought slices through the fatigue long enough for his eyes to briefly open.

 _He knows. Harry knows he's a werewolf._

~0~

In the end it isn't Harry that he has to fear. Furious that the opportunity has slipped through his fingers, Snape 'accidently' let's slip his lycanthropy to his Slytherins, and Remus can tell the difference the moment he's well enough to leave the Hospital Wing. The frantic scratching of quills against parchment provokes Howlers containing nasty, vile words, fast-acting jinxes and so much shame that Remus resigns after only the third. It's the end of the school year anyway, so he's not leaving them in the lurch, and besides, he doesn't think he can stay at Hogwarts.

Not under Dumbledore.

The guilt of suspecting, blaming, _believing_ Sirius eats at him. It's with him constantly, day and night, and he knows it isn't really Dumbledore's fault; Sirius and James and Lily hadn't told anyone they were swapping secret keepers. But the old man had let Sirius go straight to Azkaban without a trial.

He's Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and _he'd let Sirius go straight to Azkaban without a trial._

An angry snarl purrs in his throat, his wand sparks, and Remus carefully places it on the desk beside him and leans forward, taking a deep breath. A long moment later he straightens up and continues packing up his office, looking up at a tentative knock on the doorframe. His heart jumps into his throat.

"Harry. What are you doing here?"

"Hermione says you've quit."

He's frowning and Remus actually feels like he's let the lad down. "Yes. I have to."

"Why?" Harry asks, staring at him, and it's so simple a question that it throws Remus completely.

"Um, I- I haven't got a choice," he says, running a freshly scarred hand from an envelope full of bubotuber pus, through his hair. "No one wants a werewolf teaching their children, Harry."

"But that isn't your fault!" the boy protests, scowling at him fiercely. Remus gapes. "Hermione explained it, that monster attacked you! You have no say in the consequences! Why should you be punished for something that's beyond your control?"

"You… you don't care."

He whispers it, and Harry's eyes, _Lily's eyes_ , snap up to his.

"'Course I don't. How hypercritical would that be? I know exactly what it's like to be someone you don't want to be."

He brushes at his fringe and the relief is _so_ severe. Remus grips the desk with white knuckles, thankful for the support; thankful that it's out of Harry sight. He breathes in slowly and steps back, letting the desk go finger by finger.

"You're really something, aren't you?" he murmurs around a smile, the smile growing when Harry flushes and looks down. "Thank you, lad."

"So you'll stay then?"

"I can't," Remus sighs. Harry's shoulders drop. "I wish I could, but the board will shut the school down before they let a werewolf continue in a position of power. This saves me being fired." He walks over and places his hand on the young wizard's shoulder. "I bet you'll have just as good a teacher next year. Better, even."

"Doubt it," Harry grumbles, scuffing the floor with one trainer. He brightens when a thought occurs to him. "But I'll probably see you over summer, yeah? Since you're friends with Hermione and all?"

Stumped, Remus blinks. "Ah…"

"'Course, you don't _have_ to hang around. I just thought… never mind. I gotta go, train leaves soon."

He turns and hurries down the hall, and Remus calling his name is a knee-jerk reaction.

"Harry!"

"What?" the boy answers, stopping and barely glancing back over his shoulder.

"I'll write you, all right?"

Harry turns fully. His grin is slow and very wide.

"All right," he nods, then turns back and scampers away. The werewolf's grin matches Harry's, and he finishes packing up his office with a much lighter heart. He takes an hour to say his goodbyes once he's done, then shrinks his possessions and uses his personal Hogwarts floo for the last time.

His cottage is quiet. Standing at the fireplace, Remus takes in the sparse furnishings and bare walls, gaze sweeping from one end of the room to the other. It feels empty compared to the loud, boisterous school, and his steps echo as he walks towards the couch, the springs squeaking loudly when they take weight.

He doesn't know what to do now.

"You know, you really should update your wards. You're getting predictable."

Remus is on his feet in an instant, wand in hand. And Sirius is smirking at him, leaning his shoulder against the wall, long dirty hair hanging down past his scruffy, bearded chin.

"Wotcher, Moony. Long-time no see. Let's chat."


	9. Like an Ally

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** J K Rowling owns Harry Potter. Not me.

 **A/N –** Hello everyone, I'm here with the next chapter! A little cautionary advice to you all: I had to stop and take a moment myself while writing the final scene, so perhaps get those tissues ready? You have been warned. Alrighty then, enjoy as much as possible and do hit me with some feedback, yes? :)

 _"Wotcher, Moony. Long-time no see. Let's chat."_

* * *

 **Chapter Nine: Like an Ally**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

The father of her daughter stands in front of him, and Remus looks at him for a long time before he slowly lowers his wand. Sirius is a sight. More skin and bone than actual flesh, his tattoos stand out starkly on the too pale chest revealed by the unbuttoned collar of his prison regulation shirt. His robes are caked with dirt, his trousers in tatters, and his eyes glitter strangely from within the long, unhealthily sharp plains of his ruined face. And although this isn't the first time Remus has seen him since he escaped Azkaban, it's the first time he _sees_ him.

Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit. It definitely shows.

"Are you hungry?" he asks in a gruff voice, moving towards the kitchen. Sirius's head cocks to the side, his smirk stamped firmly in place. His eyes still have that weird intensity to them that has Remus's stomach in knots.

"'Course I am, but you ain't got any food, Moony. I've checked already."

"I've got something," Remus mutters. He slides past Sirius and heads towards the icebox, digging around in the back until he finds what he's looking for. Sitting it on the bench, he defrosts it with a tap of his wand, and five minutes later the sizzle of frying meat fills the room.

Neither man say a word as the steaks cook. Remus concentrates on the pan, and he can feel Sirius watching him. He's standing in the doorway, again leaning against the wall, and the werewolf takes note of his posture out the corner of his eye. The sight draws a frown, because there's something brittle in the way Sirius is standing; something fragile, and Remus isn't sure if that's a symptom of his wasted physique, or if the way he's feeling is being reflected in the movements of his body.

Both, most likely. Either way, Remus doesn't like it.

"Sit," he says when he turns with plate in hand, and for the first time the fake smirk shifts, a small grin taking its place.

"Woof," Sirius replies, but he sits at the island bar and snatches the plate from Remus, ignoring the knife and fork to pick the piping hot steaks up in his hands and tear the meat to pieces with his teeth. He eats like a man starved.

That's what he is.

"What are you doing here?" Remus asks quietly, turning back from watching out the window when the noisy chewing and swallowing stops. He can't watch Sirius eat. It makes it too hard to breathe.

"As I said, we need to have a chat."

"Is it important enough to get yourself caught over? You know that this'll be one of the first places they'll look."

"It is indeed, Moony old boy," Sirius answers, his glittering eyes now back on Remus. He gets to his feet. "You know it is."

Remus grimaces. Yeah, he knows. "I'm sure it can wait until after you've had a shower and changed those godawful clothes. No offence, Padfoot, but you reek."

The smirk slithers back into place and Sirius nods, once, a single dip of his head. "Fine. But enough with the procrastinating, Remus. We _are_ talking when I come back." He leaves the room in an awkward combination of a stride and a hobble, and it's incredibly empty once he's gone. Remus carefully releases the painful burst of air stuck in his lungs and begins cleaning up the dishes. Then, using activity as a way not to think, he fetches a change of clothes for Sirius and quietly sits them on the toilet seat before exiting the steamy room, all the while pretending he doesn't hear the broken little noises from the naked man standing in the bathtub under a blistering hot spray, and goes about rebuilding the wards and making the house habitable.

So much dust. It settles everywhere.

He's only half done an hour later when the bathroom door opens and closes and Sirius is watching him again, still looking a lot worse for wear but at least now clean. Remus is silent when he waves towards the couch, and Sirius is silent when he sits.

"What do you want to talk about?" Remus asks eventually, and Sirius's barking laugh suddenly fills the choking silence. It borders on hysterical.

"Oh, I don't know, Moony. Everything? What you've been up to for thirteen years? Prongs? Fucking _Wormtail_?" He leans forward, eyes boring into Remus's. "The little girl that helped Harry rescue me? Wanna tell me about her, huh?"

The shock freezes his lungs. Swallowing so hard it's audible, Remus whispers, "it's not my place to tell you about her."

"Then whose is it? Her _mother's_?" Sirius demands, then gets up and prowls through the room, hands tugging at his hair. "Where is she? Where's Hermione? I thought you two were glued at the hip? _Where the fuck is that girl's mother, Remus_?"

"She isn't here obviously!"

"Then you need to get her fucking _here_ , right fucking _now_!"

"I don't need to do anything until you calm the hell down!" Remus snaps, rising to his own feet. "If you think for one _second_ that I'm bringing Hermione here while you're like _this-_ "

"Like what, Moony?" Sirius barks back, rounding on him, "royally pissed off about the fact that I might just have a daughter that I knew nothing about, and that nobody, not even you, took the time to make my life in that _place_ a little brighter by letting me in on a secret that I had the right to know from the very beginning?!"

The acknowledge of it, the actual words instead of hints and thoughts and whispers, deflates them both. Remus sinks back down onto the couch, falling against the back with a sigh. Sirius sits where he is, back against the wall, knees up. His head finds his hands.

There's silence again.

"I didn't know," Remus murmurs after a while, and he senses more than sees Sirius lift his head to look at him. "I didn't know about Ella until last year, when she started Hogwarts. Hermione and I… we haven't been in each other's lives. We aren't… close anymore."

"Ella," Sirius chokes out, eye wide, before swallowing hard and saying, "why the hell not? You two are as thick as thieves!"

"Not anymore," Remus mutters. "It's a long story."

"I've got time, don't I?" Sirius argues with a frown. "It must have been something big, to split you two apart. You were always the other half of each other's whole."

Startled by the comment, Remus blinks rapidly, then scowls and shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Right," Sirius says, eyeing him. There's a heavy pause. "You should still get her here. And… Ella."

"Not Ella," Remus immediately answers, pointing at Sirius when his lips peel back in a look that's almost vicious, "and that's the reason right there. You aren't ready to see Ella. You need to speak to Hermione first, and you need to get your head on straight. She's twelve years old, Padfoot. Let's at least _try_ and give her a decent first impression, yeah?"

"So contact Hermione then!" Sirius growls, and Remus's jaw is tight as he gets up and heads to the floo. Sticking his head in, he's soon looking into a compact, comfortable looking office, bookshelf ceiling high, the desk neat as a pin. Thick, dark carpet lines the floor and over in the corner sits a Victorian chaise lounge, a book closed and resting on the smoked glass coffee table by its head, ready and waiting to be picked up again. A decanter filled with amber liquid sits on a handled wooden platter next to it, its tumbler neatly at its side.

The room is such a mixture of the Hermione he grew up with and the Hermione he doesn't know anymore, it made his heart ache. He has to clear his throat before he can speak.

"Hermione? Are you home?"

"Remus?" comes the surprised answer from behind the closed door, so soon after his call that he figures her wards let her know someone was fire-calling. The door opens and Hermione walks into the room. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, it's fine, but can you come over?" Remus asks, hiding how unsettled the somewhat polite, you're-only-my-associate type of greeting makes him feel. They really are that far gone. "Um, I have a guest who would really like to speak to you. It's _important._ "

Comprehension dawns in Hermione's eyes, and apprehension, uneasiness and fear are quick chasers. She swallows thickly. "I'm not bringing her with me."

"I don't expect you to," Remus replies, before hesitating briefly then saying, "neither does he."

Hermione's lips press together and she nods. "All right. Just… just give me a while to sort out a babysitter, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Floo's open," Remus says, then stops her with a soft call of her name when she turns back towards the door with nerves twisting through the lines of her face. Hermione looks at him and Remus smiles gently. "It'll be all right, you know. Everything will turn out fine." _I'll be there the entire time_ , he thinks but doesn't say, and maybe she hears it anyway, because her shoulders relax somewhat.

Her smile reminds him of years long past. There's always hope.

"See you soon," she says, and Remus nods and retreats back through the floo, turning to find Sirius's eyes fixed on him.

"She's coming. Just organizing a babysitter. I figure she'll use her next door neighbour. Ella's familiar with her, since that's who looks after Harry when needed. Want a drink?"

Getting up, Remus heads to the kitchen and the cabinet above the sink, where he knows is an old, rather dusty bottle of firewhiskey. He's glad for the excuse because he's verging on babbling and it's strange. He's nervous.

Why is _he_ nervous? He's not the one Sirius needs to speak to.

"Speaking of Harry, you've time to tell me about him then."

Ah. That's why.

His heart slams when Remus steps back into the room, the firewhiskey still unopened in the kitchen. His throat is closed and it's hard to get words out. He doesn't want to talk about Harry but there isn't a choice. "What do you want to know?" he asks, silently terrified of the answer, because whatever it is, he knows he won't be able to answer it.

He doesn't _know_ Harry. Not like he should.

Sirius is rightfully going to blow a gasket.

"Everything. I sent him a letter on the train, but that, the tunnel and the rescue's the only communication I've had with him. It isn't enough. What's his favourite colour? Favourite food? It used to be bread-and-butter pudding, has that changed? Is he more like Lily or James? He's like James, isn't he? What was his first piece of accidental magic? He's brilliant at Quidditch, how old was he when he first flew? Did you teach him? He had to have learnt from someone, and I know flying isn't your thing, but you're loads better at it than you think… Remus, mate, why do you look like Minnie's used you as a favoured scratching post?"

The guilt claws at him and Sirius's eyes are narrowed, worry and an achingly familiar suspicion chasing away the eager puppy look that lit his bony face. He slowly gets to his feet, calves, then thighs, then torso, then neck stretching up, and Remus's chest hurts, and he can't take it. He needs to speak.

"Moony? What's going on?"

"I wasn't there," Remus mutters, eyes dropping to the floor. His throat opening all of a sudden makes the words pour out, louder with every sentence. "I don't know what his first bit of accidental magic was because I only met him when I started teaching at Hogwarts. I never saw him, never checked on him or made myself a part of his life, after he went to live with his relatives. I ignored him, him and Hermione, and Ella as a result, and he grew up with people who hate what he is. He grew up unhappy and I never did anything to change that. Hermione went after him but I didn't, and all three of them went twelve years without a word from me. I hate that. I _hate_ it. I'll so sorry for it, and I'll regret it for the rest of my life, I swear I will."

The significant pause that follows vibrates with tension. "You… weren't there for him?" asks Sirius finally, in a much too calm voice. Remus swallows hard and goes to answer, but Sirius speaks right over top of him.

His voice is dangerously even. Remus's head snaps up.

"You weren't there for him, Moony? You abandoned James's son when he needed you most? When I was locked up in that hellhole for something I didn't do, you turned tail and ran like a fucking coward? When you were the only thing he had left, when everyone who was familiar and comfortable, who loved him, was gone, you left him _alone_?"

Every word is a shaft, and Remus's lips are numb. "He had Hermione," he whispers even though he knows that Hermione hadn't moved into the area until Ella was a toddler. Sirius sneers, and the wild anger the calmness hides peeks through.

"Oh yes, he had Hermione, the girl who was pregnant and then had her own kid to concentrate on. He needed _undivided attention_ , Remus. Why didn't you give that to him? Are you that selfish and self-centred? Do you feel so fucking _sorry_ for yourself that you can't comprehend anyone having bigger, _greater_ needs than you do?"

" _No_!" Remus bursts out, "it wasn't like that at all!"

"Then what was it like, Moony?" Sirius demands, taking a deliberate step towards him. "He was just a kid! A fucking _baby_! How could you leave him to face an unknown world alone?!"

His own anger takes Remus by surprise and he's advancing on Sirius, drilling a finger into his chest, before he can think that maybe retaliating might not be such a good idea. "Don't you dare talk about leaving Harry on his own, you right royal hypocrite! You're the one who got yourself locked up in Azkaban his entire childhood!"

"And you're the one who _believed_ I was a traitor and a cold blooded murderer!" Sirius spits back, grabbing his hand and tossing it aside. The change in subject is fluid and isn't contested by either man. "He's my _best mate!_ I'd _never_ betray him like that!"

Alarm bells go off in Remus's mind, but he's too pissed to pay them much attention. "Oh, so I would? Wasn't there a time that you believed _I_ was on Voldemort's side? He was my friend too, Padfoot, as was Lily! They're dead, nothing's ever going to change that, and you're only angry because you feel just as goddamn guilty as I do that you didn't see it was fucking _Peter_ in time to guarantee Harry didn't grow up an unwanted orphan!"

Sirius's answer is a roar of fury and he lunges at Remus in a move so sudden that it catches the werewolf off guard. They tumble backwards and crash through the wooden coffee table, hitting the floor in a tangle of grunting and swearing and anger, and Remus struggles, trying the buck the enraged man off of him. It takes longer than he expects because Sirius is fuelled by adrenalin and severe emotions, but eventually he's straddling the taller man, using his arms and legs to pin him down.

"I'm a werewolf, you wanker," Remus snaps as Sirius squirms, "you can't ever think you'll best me."

"You're yellow-bellied is what you are," Sirius snarls, then somehow manages to get his arm free and plough his fist straight into Remus's stomach. Remus gasps as his breath flees, arms instinctively wrapping around his abdomen, and Sirius shoves him off aggressively and scrambles to his feet, dragging Remus up by his collar. He punches Remus twice in the face before the wizard gets his wits about him.

Catching the next fist in his hand, Remus scowls and clouts Sirius right across the jaw, making sure not to put his full strength behind the punch. His old mate drops like a rock, staying down for a full minute before he staggers to his feet.

"Don't!" Remus hisses, but Sirius is already growling and throwing himself forward. Remus bares his teeth and his legs bunch.

" _Immobulus!_ "

Neither man hears the floo activate, but they certainly feel the spell as it splits in two and hits them, freezing them both in place. Hermione strides into view with a face like thunder.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Brawling like a couple of pub-hopping drunks? Are you two full grown adults or spoilt children? What's _wrong_ with you? I would've expected this when we still in school but not now! Get your heads out of your arses and start acting like your maturity matches your years, or so help me Merlin, this stupid, moronic punch-up will seem like a walk in the park compared to what I've got in store!"

She glares at them both, one after the other, and Remus would've hung his head if he could move. Her lips a tight line, Hermione huffs in irritation and raises her wand, muttering the counter curse, and once again the spell splits. Remus and Sirius topple to the floor.

"Where did you learn to split it like that?" Remus's mouth asks against his brain's better judgement as he gets to his feet, eyes on the witch. Her chocolate gaze shoots darts back at him as a reply, and she huffs a second time, spins on her heels and stomps out of the room and down the hallway.

Both men cringe when Remus's bedroom door slams.

"Good luck talking to her, mate," Remus jokes as he turns back to Sirius, and the air is suddenly back to being tight as a bowstring. Straightening to full height, the two wizard's watch each other with wary expressions.

Sirius breaks first. "Damn it, Moony, you're a bloody werewolf, you couldn't have gone easy on me?" he winces, hand lifting to finger his already darkening jaw. Remus smirks slightly.

"I did," he says and Sirius's laughter is strained. "Besides, you got a couple of good ones in. Am I bleeding? I think I'm bleeding."

"Nah, you're not. Well, maybe a little. You'll survive."

Remus swallows, internally grimacing at the taste of copper. "Yeah, I will," he says quietly, and it takes a considerable amount of courage to walk over to Sirius and hold out his hand. "Bygones be bygones?"

The hesitation is brief but it's there. Remus feels that split second in his bones. "Bygones be bygones," Sirius agrees gruffly, taking Remus's hand and jerking him forward into a hard embrace. Something inside Remus unclenches as Sirius steps back. The dark-haired wizard's smile is weak, and he breathes out a rough breath.

"Right. Time to face the dragon."

Remus chuckles softly. "Have fun with that."

"Yeah, well, I'm the one who's got the right to be irate, don't I?"

He's heading back towards the bedroom before Remus can reply. The door only clicks closed this time and Remus is now alone in the main room.

He's alone, but knowing the loaded conversation about to take place in another part of the house, he's not alone enough, so he escapes through the front door and makes his way around to the back section. And for seventy-three minutes, he sits on the broken swing on his back porch overlooking his weedy, overgrown backyard, a part of his brain insisting on counting the time passing while another part frets about the conversation going on inside. The murmur of voices is constant in the background, the volume occasionally rising to shouting and then dying back down again. Remus scowls in distress when the shouting starts, his foot tapping, knee jumping, but he can't leave, even when he seesaws between wanting to leave for his own sake and needing to stay for theirs.

As the time creeps up on the hour and strides confidently past it, those alarm bells and the reason for them surface again. The exhausted werewolf frowns as his mind turns over.

Sirius had used present tense during their fight, as if the Potters were still alive, and that fact worries Remus. He doesn't know if it was just something in the moment, a reflex caused by anger, or something deeper and much less healthy, and he's chewing over it when the backdoor opens. He looks up.

"Are you all right?" he asks as Hermione takes a seat beside him. The swing creaks ominously but stays together, and Hermione wipes swollen eyes, cheeks puffy and wet.

"Not really. It's hard, Remus. I didn't think it would be this hard. He's in the kitchen raiding the bottle of firewhiskey he found on the bench. He's just so… he's _different_. I can't say I like how different he is."

"Azkaban isn't a nice place to live," Remus murmurs, eyes on the patchy, jungle-like grass. Hermione sighs.

"No. No, it's not. He's stuck on the thought that I should've gone there and told him about Ella. Never mind that I didn't want the man I'd thought murdered my best friend knowing I was carrying his child. I honestly don't know if I got through to him, and I'm not entirely sure what to do next."

They sit for a bit before Remus speaks again, and he can tell the instant he asks the question that makes the witch uncomfortable. "Are you going to let him meet her?"

Hermione sighs again. "Not… not yet," she hedges, face twisted. "He needs to settle some, you know? Be the Sirius Black we grew up with again, if that's even possible. Meeting her when he's so… I have to think of her. She's the main priority. I won't let my daughter get hurt, Remus."

The werewolf sucks in a heady breath, the beginnings of an idea forming gradually into a solid and hopefully helpful plan. He doesn't know if it's truly a good idea or not, and he turns to Hermione, nerves buzzing in his gut. Her face pales just a touch when he explains it to her.

Still, her nod is decisive.

"If you think it'll work, then let's do it," she says, and Remus's eyes close.

~0~

The sun shines brightly as they appear on the grassy bank at the woodland's edge, the air-renting sound of apparition fading in their wake. Birds chirp in the treetops around them and a warm breeze blows, hitting them head on, making them squint against the dust in their faces. A church stands far across the way, and Remus quickly casts a disillusionment and a silencing charm as Sirius peers around, Hermione at his side.

He sees the exact moment Sirius realizes where they are.

In a jarringly abrupt shift of emotions, the Black heir's face splinters. It's like watching a mirror break, the cracks creeping across the surface, a spider's web of pain and panic and denial. His eyes wheel to Remus and he shakes his head, almost violently. His skin is chalky.

Just looking at him makes it hard to breathe, but they have to do this. He needs it.

They both do.

"Why are we here? I don't to be here! We can't… not here! Can we go back to your place, Remus, I can't… I can't. Not here. I don't want to, I can't. I can't!"

"Yes you can," Remus says with absolute conviction, and his heart feels pulverized when he and Hermione flank the wizard, the werewolf's clasp gentle on Sirius's arm. Sirius growls and tries to jerk away, but unlike earlier, when he'd pulled his punches, Remus's doesn't let him escape. More panic invades Sirius's eyes and a sweat breaks out on his brow.

With the agitated animagus rigid and resisting every step of the way, they move out of the shadow of the trees and make their way into the cemetery.

Remus has been here before. Not often, and certainly not when the graves were fresh, the soil not yet settled. He didn't go to the funeral because he was being flayed apart enough as it was. It was too close and too new, and the crowd who attended were strangers, the people he actually knew nothing more than acquaintances, and he just couldn't. Not then. But he went to them later, months later, when he felt just a little more stable, and although it had been horrifically painful, seeing where they rested had ultimately helped.

Sirius needs their help. He needs James's help. So there's only one thing for it.

By the time they reached the two headstones, Sirius has stopped fighting to get away. Instead, his head is turned, neck twisted, eyes squeezed shut, trembling body craned towards the opposite direction. He stays like that when they stop and Remus lets go of his arm, deliberately not looking at the graves, as if not seeing them will make them not exist.

Remus knows he needs to acknowledge their existence, but he also knows that forcing him could backfire. He's already taken too much of a chance by bringing Sirius here in the first place, even if it is in his best interests. So instead of dragging him around and making him look, Remus drops to his knees, eyes on the words carved in stone.

They'll always be carved in stone.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around recently," he murmurs, voice thick, fingers playing across the _James_ and then the _Lily_. His chest is tight. So very tight. "Things have happened as you know, things that shouldn't have happened, but the truth has come out now. I can't promise that everything will be okay, but I think it's going to be better. I hope it'll be better. Harry is magnificent and I'm going to do what I should have done from the very beginning. That I _can_ promise. You don't have to be ashamed of me any longer, because he's going to be happy from now on. I'll do everything in my power to make sure of it."

Fingers card through his hair, and his witch, the witch that has always been his in one way or another, burrows under his arm and wraps her own around his torso. Her head rests on his shoulder and tears pour silently down her cheeks, a cascade that's endless from dark, destroyed eyes locked on the weather-roughened markers. Her body shudders and he presses his lips to her hair, breath clogged in his lungs.

There's a keening whimper from above them, and Remus looks up just in time to see those cracks in the mirror shatter. At some point his best mate has turned towards the headstones, and Remus watches Sirius's body collapse, his spine disintegrating. He falls in pieces onto the grass next to them, and great sobs shake what's left, fragmented and physically painful, from deep within him. His hair is hanging over his face, his arms are hanging uselessly at his sides, and there's an earthquake in his body, shaking it hard enough to make it look like he's having convulsions. His crying is so severe, he sounds like a wounded animal.

Which fits because that's exactly what he is.

Remus doesn't even think about it. He detangles himself from Hermione and gathers the man up in his arms, cradling him in his lap. Sirius clings to him, grief seemingly shredding his very soul, and Remus sits with no words and rocks him, Hermione sniffing and pressed into his side with her hand on Sirius's back.

They sit there, each flailing within their own private hell, long after the sun goes down.


	10. Like a Friend (again)

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** "Jo can keep Harry Potter and all related to it. I don't want it," she says, lying through her teeth.

 **A/N –** *waves frantically* Hello everyone! Good to see you! The next chapter is here, so please do enjoy and let me know what you think! :) _This chapter is dedicated to_ _ **Worthfull1**_ _, who is and forever will be, more than worth it._

 _They sit there, each flailing within their own private hell, long after the sun goes down._

* * *

 **Chapter Ten: Like a Friend (again)**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

He spends the summer trapped between two rumbling storm clouds. It's decided but never spoken aloud that Sirius will stay with Remus as Padfoot for as long as he can, and Ella's mother and father never actually blow up at each other. But their issues – or their one main issue – hover over them constantly and the tension is thick. It reminds Remus strongly of the initial stages of their breakup in school, and he does what he did back then – ignores it as best he can. Even though he can see both sides of the argument, he doesn't add his two knuts worth because Ella doesn't have anything to do with him and he's afraid of treading on toes he has no right to be approaching in the first place.

Hermione stays away for a lot of the time school is out. She comes over often at first, but gets sick of Sirius asking to meet his daughter and the hostility that pours off him when she says not yet. A couple of times Remus arrives just in time to stop Sirius going through the floo without Hermione's consent. He's agitated and slightly aggressive when he isn't Padfoot, which isn't often, and firewhiskey becomes the human's constant companion, a glass always in his hand. He slowly gaining weight and looking healthier, but a tumbler seems to be permanently attached to his palm, and it worries Remus a little more than he's willing to admit.

Harry is the countermeasure. The first time Sirius gets a letter from the boy, he's alight with joy, looking much younger and much more the person Remus grew up with. He writes back quickly and Harry replies, and the circle is continuous, though fewer and further between than Remus knows Sirius likes. But it's safer to only write once a week, if that, and Sirius is on tenterhooks awaiting the anticipated letter, sending the reply back with different exotic bird after different exotic as a way to make Harry believe – and anyone else who might intercept the letter – that Sirius is hiding off on foreign shores.

Sirius doesn't like lying to the impressionable young wizard. However, his safety is paramount, so a little flub of the truth really is for the best. And it makes Sirius smile when he gets to elaborate a touch on how he's doing; how the sun and the sea is doing him the world of good. Remus is pretty sure Harry doesn't believe those parts of his godfather's letters, but he acts excited about it anyway.

It warms Remus. It does. Seeing the happy grin on his mate's face and the hardly changing level in the bottle makes it a lot easier to sleep at night. But at the same time there's a small, dark little place inside him that he doesn't like to think about.

Because while Sirius, Harry's godfather, gets letters, Remus doesn't get a single one.

He resents it. And he hates that he resents it because it takes Sirius's mind off not meeting Ella and makes him happy, and Remus presumes it makes Harry happy as well. But against his will, the all-consuming love and loyalty that formed when Harry was a baby reignited in the previous year, and he thought… he thought…

It doesn't matter what he thought. Harry is writing to his godfather and everything is better for it.

Space is the other contributing factor that helps Remus's houseguest stay on a more even kilter. Maybe it's due to being locked inside for over a decade, but Sirius hates staying in the house for too long, something he makes quite clear early on in the summer. After the third dose of heart-thumping panic that has the werewolf shouting at Sirius because he's gotten home from his muggle supermarket job to find the other wizard nowhere in the vicinity, Remus makes use of Hermione's personal library. That night, he stands in front of his little house with his wand out and casts continuously for a full ten minutes. His wards are thick and multi-layered when he's done, numerous protection and detection spells twined together to form an extensive early warning system a good kilometre out on all sides. Sirius stands back in the doorway and watches, and when Remus lowers his wand, blows out a breath and just sits down where he is, forehead falling forward onto his drawn-up knees, he takes a couple of hurried steps forward before he stops just shy of walking out into the very visible front yard.

"Moony?"

"You can go outside now," Remus croaks, eyes squeezed shut. "The wards will throw up a smokescreen of everyday ordinariness to anyone looking in and they'll let us know that someone's coming ages before they reach the door. They won't keep anyone out. Or in." He lifts his head and meets Sirius's wide-eyed gaze. "They'll hide you when you're within their protection and they'll give you a semblance of freedom. But they won't stop you going beyond them. You can't… this is the best I can do. I'm sorry I can't do more."

It's like seeing the sun come out. Or seeing a letter arrive. Sirius's ecstatic smile takes over his face and then he's Padfoot and his barking sends a rush of birds winging out of the trees. He tackles Remus, drowning the yelling and complaining and finally laughing werewolf in dog slobber, and then he jumps off him and runs.

And runs and runs and runs.

Remus knows as time passes that he doesn't _always_ stay in the wards. He speaks too often of Buckbeak to have limited himself to the extended property, but his mood is lighter for longer periods of time. And the wards come in handy, letting both men know when Aurors come sniffing around, giving Sirius time to go dog and scamper off and Remus time to clean up any human evidence.

It's the Quidditch World Cup that briefly brings back the instability in Sirius – if it ever truly left him. Words can't express how Remus feels; the fear that bleeds through his very being when he hears of the 'minor disruption' the blustering, blundering ministry insists on calling it. It's a fucking riot is what it is, and while Remus devours the _Daily Prophet_ and Miss Skeeter's article, Sirius deviates between ranting and raving and pacing back and forth and muttering vile things under his breath. When they haven't heard anything by the next evening, Remus has to physically hold him back from going after Harry himself, and it's only Hermione fire-calling and telling them that she'd gone to the Weasleys' to find Harry perfectly fine, if not a little rattled, that stops another fight from breaking out.

It proves one thing. Harry's a stopgap. And even though Remus is positive that that isn't at all healthy, as Sirius drags in multiple deep breaths and the werewolf actually watches his sanity slide back into place, he can't bring himself to be overly concerned.

Harry needs his godfather. And Sirius needs his godson.

The first of September rolls around and Sirius spends most of the day as Padfoot curled up in his room. Harry's moving further from them, as is his daughter he's still not allowed to meet, and the clouds hang weighty over his head. Remus isn't feeling very jovial himself.

He's frowning down at his hands when the wards signal.

On his feet instantly, his head turns towards the back of the house. "Sirius!"

"Yeah, I felt it. I'm going."

The big black dog slips out the back door and Remus sits and waits. Exactly thirteen minutes later, someone knocks. Remus gets to his feet.

It isn't at all who he's expecting.

"Wotcher, Remus! Blimey, you haven't changed a bit!" the girl exclaims, hands behind her back and toes of one boot-clad foot grinding into the gravel under her feet. Her hair is bubble gum pink, her impish grin reflecting in her dark brown eyes. She smells like candy floss and cut grass. Remus frowns in confusion.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

The girl's grin widens. "You should," she says, humour dancing in her expression. "Here, maybe this'll pluck some strings."

She lifts a hand and points at her head. Remus's eyes grow large as her pink hair slowly turns green, spreading from one strand to the next, until it looks like she has gillyweed growing in place of her hair. Memories stir in the back of his mind and Remus's mouth falls open.

"Dora?!"

"That's my name, don't wear it out," Nymphadora Tonks states cheerfully, shaking her head and turning her hair pink once more. "Good to see you haven't completely lost your mind to old age. May I come in?"

"Of course," Remus murmurs, goggling at the girl whom he hasn't seen since she was five years old and he was fresh out of Hogwarts. He steps back and waves his arm in welcome. "What are you doing here?"

Sirius's cousin shrugs and steps through the door. "Was in the neighbourhood and was feeling a bit nostalgic. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, no, just a bit surprised is all. Didn't think you'd remember much of me."

"You're kidding, right?" she answers, looking back over her shoulder at him, a pink brow arching. "I loved it when you lot visited!"

Remus shoots forward. "Dora, watch the-"

 _Crash!_

"Whoops, sorry!" the witch says as she and Remus stare down at the tumbled over coatrack. She turns her head and winks up at Remus, patting the arms wrapped around her waist. "Thanks for the save, handsome. I always liked being in your arms."

His face flushing beet red, Remus drops her on her feet and let's her go as if burned. "Ah… still got that clumsiness, I see."

"Yup. Always have, always will," she says with an uncaring shrug, picking up the rack and setting it to rights. "It's my trademark, isn't it? I could murder a cuppa, Remus. Tea, two sugars, no milk."

"Coming right up," the werewolf answers, leading her into the kitchen. He throws her a grin over his shoulder. "And here I thought the fact that you can change any part of your body into anything you like was your trademark."

"Yeah, well that too," Dora chuckles as she takes a seat at the island bar and looks around. "Quaint little place you've got here."

Remus's expression is amused when he turns around. "Old and rundown, you mean," he says dryly, placing the cup in front of her and sitting opposite. "But it's good enough for me and that's all I need."

Dora grins at him, and they sit and talk for quite some time. It's easy to talk to the young witch. She allows Remus to reminisce about times long past without the pain and heartache attached, and Remus is laughing and enjoying himself immensely when the floo activates in the main room. Already knowing who it is – there's only one person allowed through without having to ask for permission first – he looks up with a grin on his face when the door pushes open.

"So they're away for another ye- oh. Sorry, didn't realise you had company."

"That's all right," he replies, getting to his feet and waving Hermione forward. "Did you ever meet Dora? Hermione, this is Nymph-"

"Remus, I swear if you call me that I'll wallop you one," Dora cuts in hastily. She stands and holds out her hand to Hermione when Remus rolls his eyes and holds up his in surrender. "Hi. I'm Tonks. My first name is horrible so we won't be repeating it."

"Hermione Granger," the older witch answers, and Remus's brow puckers a little at the wariness in those two words. She takes Dora's hand. "I know a little something about unusual first names. Remus called you Dora."

"Tonks will do," Dora states, speculation in her eyes. They dart quickly to Remus and then back to Hermione, who's watching her like a hawk. A quiet little grin appears and she shakes her head. "Well, I really must be going. It was really good to see you, Remus. Another time, maybe?"

"Certainly. Anytime."

"Great!" she replies in a cheerful tone, rubbing Remus's arm. Hermione's eyes narrow and Remus swears he hears the pink-haired witch laugh under her breath. "I'll see myself out. Nice meeting you, Hermione."

"You too," Hermione says, and then the front door is closing and Hermione is looking at Remus in a way that confuses the hell out of him.

"What?"

"Really?" is all she comes back with, tone dusty dry. Then: "Where's Snuffles?"

"Right here, pet," a voice answers. Sirius steps into the kitchen with about the same look on his face as Hermione's wearing. Remus's confusion grows.

"Little Tonksie, Moony?"

"What?" he asks again, snapping this time. Sirius flicks a look at Hermione, who's looking mighty put out, and a smirk appears.

"Just don't give her access to the floo, yeah?" he says, laughter in his voice. Remus scowls at him and pushes past out the door.

It's annoying and frustrating that they'd think he ever would.

~0~

When Harry writes Sirius and reveals that he's somehow become the fourth Triwizard Champion, all hell breaks loose. Remus has never been angrier, or more terrified, and he and Hermione storm Dumbledore's office and _demand_ the fourteen-year-old wizard be released from competing in the tournament. Unfortunately, there isn't anything Dumbledore can do.

"It's magically binding," he states calming, fingers steepled on his desk in a way that makes it appear as if he hasn't a care in the world. "He cannot not compete. Believe me, I am as concerned as you are."

"It's fucking convenient is what it is!" Hermione snaps, looking at Dumbledore with such a level of disgust, it surprises Remus. "You were supposed to have rules in place to stop things like this from happening!"

Dumbledore sighs. "I am not invincible, Miss Granger," he says softly, eyes fixed on the fuming witch. "Please try not to worry. Nothing will happen to Harry, this I can promise you."

"It better bloody not, Albus, or I swear you'll regret it," she retorts angrily, tossing her hair back. "Sometime you make it awfully hard not to question the intention behind your decisions. If so much as a _hair_ on that boy's head gets tossed out of place, I'll-"

"We know he has the entire faculty behind him," Remus interjects, throwing Hermione a wide-eyed, panicked look. "We'll be going now. Come on, love."

He grabs Hermione's hand and drags her over to the floo, meeting her scowl with one of his own when they step back into his living room.

"What the hell was that?" he snaps, folding his arms across his chest and pinning her with a gimlet glare. "You just _threatened_ Albus Dumbledore! You can't threaten Albus Dumbledore!"

"I don't see why the fuck not!" Hermione throws back at him, still angry as a she-cat. "He's putting Harry's life in danger!"

"He's doing everything he can!"

"He's doing everything he _wants_ to!" she growls, advancing on him and drilling a hole into his chest with her pointer finger. "Merlin, you can't tell me you're that bloody _naïve,_ Remus!"

"Now, now, kiddies, enough fighting," Sirius's voice drawls, drawing both witch and wizard's attention. He sitting on the sofa, firewhiskey in one hand, muggle cigarette in the other. He's the only one who hasn't blown his top about Harry's news, which utterly shocked Remus, who'd been expecting a month-long cleanup. "Fighting won't help Harry. Let me guess, the almighty Dumbles said there was nothing he can do? Ah, well," he says when Hermione furiously shakes her head, "we best put our heads together and make sure our boy comes out alive then, shouldn't we?"

It's the beginning of something Remus is positive must be a stage. Sirius is calm, level-headed and helpful, writing Harry often with advise and even once organising a floo conversation with him. He talks Harry through his fears, his frustration with his fight with Ron, and after a bowel-liquefying First Task which Remus sneaks in to watch – Harry can _fly_ , although his summoning charm needs a _lot_ more work – he talks Harry through his anxiety over asking a girl to the Yule Ball. He's acting like a guardian, and Remus really hopes it isn't a stage because Harry _needs_ this.

It makes Hermione look at him with new eyes as well.

"Do you think I should let him?"

"Hmm?" Remus looks up from the newspaper he's been clicking his tongue over to find Hermione studying the island, her tea stone cold next to her elbow. She's been spending a lot more time at his place over the last three months and most of the time it's like the incident where he went barmy and kissed her never even happened. Remus doesn't know whether to be glad or disappointed about that.

"Sirius. Do you think I should let him? Meet Ella?"

Rita Skeeter's outrageous articles abruptly forgotten, Remus gives the witch his full attention. Hermione's playing with her fingers, fidgeting, and Remus reaches over and lays his hand over hers to stop her. Her head lifts.

"Do you want to?" he asks softly. Hermione frowns.

"It doesn't matter what I want. It's about Ella. She's been asking and Sirius has been so much better lately… I don't know what to do." She takes a breath and her gaze drops again. "I-I'm afraid, Remus."

"Of losing her? You know that's never going to happen, love," he says gently when she swallows hard enough for him to see the movement. "Ella's yours. She'll always be yours. Introducing someone else to the mix isn't going to change the status quo."

"Christ, I wish I could believe that," Hermione mutters, then continues before Remus has a chance to reply, her eyes lifting to hold his. "So you think I should do it?"

Remus frowns. "I think," he begins, trying to tread carefully, "that you should do what's best for Ella. Sirius comes after her. Always. Her happiness is the most important thing, isn't it?"

Hermione's mouth opens, then closes. "Yeah," she breathes, distress then resignation flying through her eyes. "It is." Her jaw tightens and seconds pass. "O-okay. Um. Here. We'll do it here?"

"I don't really think your place is the best idea, do you?" Remus jokes, heart racing. A small smile tips Hermione's mouth.

"No, you're right. During Christmas break? That's soon and it's best to get it over and done with in case it doesn't go well… god. What if it doesn't go well?"

"Then we'll get through it and aim for a better meeting next time," he says firmly, squeezing the hand he's still holding. Hermione jolts somewhat and looks down before looking at him again with an expression Remus can't read. Then she's moving and the werewolf suddenly finds his arms full of witch.

"Merlin, I don't know what I'd do without you," Hermione mumbles into his neck. Remus stares blankly at the kitchen window and the next moment his arms are wrapped around her like a vice. Marigold floods his senses and times ceases to have meaning.

"Well, this is cosy. Can I join?"

Hermione stiffens in his arms, and for a minute Remus thinks she isn't going to acknowledge him. Then she's sniffing, pulling away and tossing Sirius an extremely fake smile.

"Sirius, um, can I talk to you? In private?"

His head cocks curiously. "'Course. Lead the way."

Ten minutes later Hermione's heading back through the floo and Sirius is sitting on his bed in a daze when Remus goes to check on him.

"You all right?"

"Yeah," the raven-haired wizard rasps, looking up at Remus helplessly. "I just… I don't know what to do with this, Moony. I don't."

"Make the most of it?" Remus suggests with a very pointed look. Slowly, Sirius nods, a fierce expression coming into his eyes.

"Yes, you're right. I'll do that. Thanks, mate."

"Anytime," Remus answers, smiling as he pulls away from the doorframe and leaves the room. The holidays seem to steamroll towards then after that, and before Remus knows it, Hermione's walking out of the floo with her pale-faced, cinder-streaked daughter by her side.

Sirius stares. Ella stares back. The tension is brick-like, and wanting to give them some much needed privacy as well as escape the choking atmosphere, Remus slips from the room and out into the backyard. He sits down in the grass and for want of nothing better to do, spends the next hour praying that the meeting goes well. For all three of their sakes.

Daffodils and Darjeeling tea gives him his first clue that maybe it hasn't after all.

"Professor Lupin?"

Turning his head, Remus smiles softly at the young girl in the black skirt and tights, combat boots and oversized red jumper, sleeves falling over her palms. Ella's hair is out and draping down her back, and a quick once-over shows a delicateness to the way she's standing; a hidden vulnerability behind familiar grey eyes in a much less familiar face. Remus doesn't know the girl well, but he does know he's never seen her look so blatantly defenceless; she's always had a confidence to her demeanour, something that bordered on cockiness ingrained in her very personality.

She's Hermione Granger and Sirius Black's daughter. Confidence seems inherited. With a jolt, Remus realises that it reminds him significantly of his first meeting with Sirius at the beginning of the summer.

"I'm not your professor anymore, Miss Granger," he says, shaking off the feeling and seeing the faint smirk that touches her lips. His heart lifts.

"I'm not your student anymore either, am I? Maybe you should call me by my first name," she suggests. Remus inclines his head, then hesitates briefly before patting the ground. Ella steps forward and is soon sitting cross-legged in the grass next to him.

He watches her out the corner of his eye. Her face is still pale, dark smudges under her eyes. He's startled once more by how much he wants to comfort that uncommon vulnerability away.

"All right, Ella it is. Something I can do for you, Miss Ella?"

Her eyes flick to him and then away again. Her shoulders lift, and the breath she releases is so tight, so shaky, that his arm rises before her words make it pause.

"Can you teach me the Patronus Charm?"

Remus can't control his surprise. "The Patronus Charm?" he repeats, turning to look at her fully. "That's very advanced magic, Ella. Adult witches and wizards aren't able to conquer it."

"You taught Harry," she points out, voice steady and fingers plucking at the grass in an almost absentminded fashion. "He's only two years older than me."

Inwardly, the werewolf winces. "He was a special case," he says, and the look Ella sends him is so dry, a huff of laughter escapes before he can prevent it. "All right, all right. Fine. But he had an incentive. What's your greatest fear, missy?"

Ella shrugs one shoulder. "Don't know. Haven't faced it yet, have I? But I get what you're saying. I can at least try though, can't I? There's no harm in trying."

"No, apart from the fact that you're underage and not allowed to use magic outside of school."

The smirk she sends him is sly. "There's two other wand carrying magicals here at the moment. How's the ministry going to know?"

"I guess you're right," Remus says with a sigh after a minute of frantically trying to find holes in her argument. He gets to his feet and gestures for her to stand. "Up you get then. Wand out. Got it steady? Good. Now, I want you to think of your happiest memory, one that fills you with joy every time you think of it, that warms you from the inside out…"

It's a lesson in futility right from the beginning. Maybe because Remus knows the young witch isn't very happy at the moment, despite how well hidden she thinks it is. Maybe because she's just that. _Young._ There's no saying she'd be able to produce as little as mist even if she was in the best of moods. Or maybe she's like her mum, her father, and every other witch and wizard when they're trying to learn something new; she just needs to practise.

But Ella Granger _is_ like her mum. At every failed try she gets more disappointed and more frustrated, although she keeps these emotions to herself for the most part – something that is completely _unlike_ Hermione. Remus offers advice and encouragement, and watches as she tries again and again and again. Nothing comes of her attempts.

He stops her in the end. He's lost count of how many times she's tried, something he's sure she hasn't, and she's sweating and on the verge of shaking when he steps up behind her. He's in time to see her face screw up and her teeth bare, and when he places a gentle hand on her shoulder, it's not only to tell her to take a break.

It's to stop her throwing her wand across the yard.

Ella stills at his touch and her head hangs. Remus waits, and after some silence and what he presumes to be an inner battle, she speaks.

"He hates me."

"No," Remus says quietly, squeezing her drooping shoulders. "He doesn't."

"It feels like it," Ella whispers. Her tone is harsh enough to make Remus frown, and with a subtle nudge, he leads her up onto the porch. The swing has been fixed and it takes their weight without protest. Ella stares at her hands as her ex-professor rummages around in one of his jacket pockets and pulls a rather smooshed, slightly melted chocolate frog.

"How does it feel like it?" he asks calmly, handing it to her. She's silent as she hesitates then takes and unwraps it, only nibbling the lethargic enchanted treat, and for a moment he thinks she isn't going to answer. After another moment, he knows she isn't going to answer, and he sits back and stares out at the still very much overgrown lawn.

"You know, I've known Sirius Black since I was eleven years old," he says conversationally, idly wondering if he'd need to degnome before he risked getting out his old muggle lawnmower. Gnomes were irritating when they tried to attack machinery. "I know him pretty well. A little insight might help you understand him better."

"Shouldn't he be the one trying to understand me?" he hears her mutter. Remus sighs inwardly.

"Maybe. Probably. Getting to know someone is a two-way street, and I know at your age that must seem unfair-"

"Unfair?" Ella interjects in a loud voice, head whipping towards Remus. The last of the frog crushes in her hand. "What's unfair, _professor_ , is the rock solid connection my biological father has with Harry. That connection was instantaneous from the moment they met; Harry idolises Sirius and vice versa; neither can stop raving about the other. Whereas with me, I sat in that room with him just now and _tried_ to get him to talk to me, tried to get him to _know_ me, and all he did was make awkward or inane comments and sneer every time I mentioned my house. He's my _father_ , and I get the distinct impression that he wishes Harry was his blood instead of the unwanted Slytherin daughter he's been unexpectedly lumbered with."

She's bitter and breathing heavily. Sympathy rides Remus hard and he takes her by the arms and gently turns her towards him. Her grey eyes are firing, disappointment and hurt easily visible under the ire. Lifting her chin and pushing a lock of dark hair back behind her ear is instinctive.

"Sweetheart, Sirius doesn't wish that at all. He doesn't," he insisted when she scowls and stubbornly shakes her head. "He desperately wanted to meet you when he found out about you, and I can guarantee that he just as desperately wants to have a relationship with you now. He just doesn't know how to do it or make it happen, which makes him panic and do and say the wrong thing. He's a complicated individual, your father. He was even before he spent twelve years in Azkaban of a crime he didn't commit."

"He doesn't seem to have a problem having a relationship with Harry," Ella points out, jaw tight. Remus can all but taste her jealousy. He smiles softly at her.

"Harry's easier," Remus says, grinning just a little when Ella snorts. "I'm not trying to pass that off as an excuse. He's much easier to bond with because Sirius knows what he wants and can very easily give it to him. A father figure," he explains when Ella looks confused. "Harry's never had much of a family or a father figure apart from his actual father when he was a baby. It's something he craves and it's a craving Sirius has no problem fulfilling. You're more difficult because he can't just slip into that role. He really wants to, but with you it isn't that simple because you've always had your mum and you don't need that. Not like Harry does. Do you understand?"

Slowly, Ella nods, still looking miserable. "Yes. But… Sirius, he's…"

"Your father?" Remus supplies quietly, and Ella shoulders slump. Remus pats her hand, resisting the urge to wrap his arm around her shoulder. "You're right, he is. Try and give it some time, all right? He _does_ want to know you; it's just going to take a little bit of effort on both your parts. Don't give up on him because your first meeting didn't go as smoothly as you, and I know him as well, wanted it to."

Ella's teeth sink into her bottom lip and a shudder shakes her frame with her next breath. "Okay," she whispers and then looks up wearing a small, relieved smile. "Okay. Um, thank you. I guess I knew that, it's just with Harry he was… yeah. Thank you."

"You're very welcome, my dear," Remus says, his own smile warm as he chucks her under the chin. Soft laughter escapes when her nose screws up and she rolls her eyes, the sound fading when the wind shifts and marigold fills the breeze before he quickly puts the smile back on his face.

He doesn't know how long she's been there, standing just inside the doorway leading into the house – something that surprises him as his senses should be more acute than that. However, something tells him that his and Ella's conversation hasn't been as private as they'd thought, and Ella speaks again before he can decide whether Hermione not letting her daughter know she's there is wise on her part.

"You know, I used to think it was you."

"Excuse me?" Remus's eyes focus back on the young witch in surprise.

"My father," Ella clarifies with a slight smirk. She's facing forward again and is shooting him a look out the corner of her eye. "I used to think it was you. Mum talks about you all the time and I always believed you were the one that, for whatever reason, got away. You or someone else she was close to because Mum doesn't do randoms- what?" she asks innocently when Remus winces. "She doesn't. But I was leaning heavily towards you. I didn't properly realize who you were when I ran into you on the train."

Having no idea what to say, Remus falls back on a time honoured tradition. "Er…"

"To be honest, I was a little disappointed when I saw that wanted poster and then mum confirmed it," Ella ploughs on, seemingly oblivious to the state she's putting the wizard next to her in. "I think you'd be a wicked dad. Ever think you'll have kids?"

Remus's jaw unhinges. "Um… I-I don't…"

"If you do, they'll be right lucky. Well, I'm off to practise that charm. Thanks for listening, professor."

"I'm not a professor anymore," Remus murmurs faintly, head spinning. "Ella!" he blurts when she jumps off the swing, the young girl stopping to turn and look at him with a questioning expression. She waits and so does he, knowing he must have said her name for a reason.

Unfortunately, he doesn't know what that reason may be because he doesn't have a clue what to say after that.

"Ah, don't ever let go of your wand," he says in lieu of saying nothing at all. Ella has the grace to flush and look a little sheepish.

"All right. Sorry, won't happen again."

"No need to apologize. Remember to focus completely on the memory and substitute it if you need to. It needs to be strong."

"I will," Ella chirps, smiling at him. Then he's alone on the porch with only his churning thoughts for company because even the scent of marigold has disappeared. Blinking in bemusement and not a little disbelief, he leans back and scrubs at his face.

A twig snaps to his right. Remus's senses prick and he groans mentally at the scent. How much did he hear?

"Are you just going to stand there?"

Sirius steps into view with his hands in his pockets. His face is set.

"She isn't yours."

 _Ah. That much._

Remus's brow tips. "I'm aware of that, Padfoot," he says very quietly. Sirius scowls and runs an agitated hand through his hair.

"Just remember it," he orders, then strides past Remus into the house, presumably going after his daughter. Remus sits for a moment as the screen door slams and then pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a helpless little laugh.

It's ironic really. Because the way it's just become obvious Sirius feels about Remus and Ella, is exactly the same way Remus, and Ella too, feels about him and Harry.


	11. Like His Constant

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** Nope, I don't own Harry Potter and everything related. Only thing I own is this plot!

 **A/N –** A bit of movement in this chapter, good people! Enjoy and do let me know your thoughts! :D

 _It's ironic really. Because the way it's just become obvious Sirius feels about Remus and Ella, is exactly the same way Remus, and Ella_ _too,_ _feels about him and Harry._

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven: Like His Constant**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

"I'm leaving," Sirius tells him one cold night after school goes back. The two men are sitting in Remus's living room, Sirius sipping muggle single malt and staring into the fire, Remus trying to work through his finances, and the statement is so sudden, Remus's hand screeches to a halt and his quill blotches right across the parchment. He watches the ink spread with a detached curiosity before slowly turning his head.

"You're leaving?" he repeats calmly. Sirius is looking at him now, an unreadable expression on his face. He nods.

"I have to, Moony. There's stuff going on with Harry and his scar and El- everything that I don't like. He needs me. I have to be there for him." A flash of anxiety breaks through, bringing life to Sirius's eyes and wiping away the almost blasé attitude. "You understand, don't you?" he asks, leaning forward, and although he doesn't make any other physical overtures, his body language screams 'beseeching.' "I can't stay here forever. There's a war out there and I need to play my part."

 _And I'm not playing mine?_ Remus thinks but doesn't say, wryly exasperated at his own thoughts. He knows Sirius doesn't mean that, or he doesn't _intentionally_ mean that. There isn't much he can do at the moment and that's something Sirius is well aware of. His job up until this point has been keeping his best mate safe and trying to help him heal.

That's not to say that he won't miss him if he goes. Remus has gotten used to having a flatmate and the thought of being on his own again doesn't sit right at all. Annoyed with himself, he bites the inside of his cheek and pushes the feeling down.

"That's up to you. I'm not going to stop you going, Padfoot. I can't, can I?" he says when the anxiety on Sirius's face doesn't shift. "Harry does need someone. But for Merlin's sake, please be careful. Don't get caught. That'll just make the boy's life worse."

Sirius's shoulders drop some. "I won't," he says, leaning back and scrubbing at his face before blinking at Remus. "I'll be travelling as Padfoot and no one but a select few know about him." Tension tightens in his expression again and his head cocks. "What about you, though? Will you be all right?"

"Me?" Remus returns, surprised. "Of course I will. It'll be good to have the place to myself again. No more dog drool covering everything, yeah?"

Sirius snorts but the sharpness in his eyes doesn't waver. "You know that that's not what I'm talking about, Moony."

Remus frowns and his eyes drop, not-so-well hidden uneasiness curdling in his stomach. Yeah, he knows. Having Sirius staying with him has been a blessing in many more ways than one. For the first time in years, he's had company during the full moon, and it isn't just any company either. Sirius is pack. Not to mention that it's the first time he's ever had company while on wolfsbane, something he's surprised he's still getting. But Dumbledore insisted, and the experiences have been… interesting.

 _They've been joyful_ , his mind whispers. And they have. Sirius isn't the same person he was when he and James and Peter had joined Remus on his nights during school, but when he's Padfoot he's very similar. It'd been painful at first, to be reminded of that and all that had changed since. But Padfoot's enthusiasm was catching and Remus couldn't have said that those nights were _fun_ , but he had felt…

At home. He'd felt at home. And it was going to be even harder than living alone again to give that feeling up.

Breathing in deeply, he raises his head. "I'll be fine. I _will_ ," he insists when Sirius's brow doesn't clear. "You don't need to worry about me, Pads. This is something I've been dealing with my entire life. Moony can handle himself."

"He might be able to but you're a different story," Sirius mutters, glaring moodily into his glass, swirling the amber liquid around the edges. "I don't want you to…" his head snaps up as a thought occurs to him. "Hermione!"

Remus's eyes narrow. "What about her?"

"She can keep you company!" Sirius exclaims, looking excited. "She can't run with you obviously, but she can-"

"She isn't here, Sirius. She's left last week to do something for Dumbledore, remember? Besides, even if she was here, who says she'd be willing?"

"Shit, I forgot about that. And 'course she'd be bloody willing!" Sirius's face is a picture of disbelief and disgruntlement, as if what Remus had said was blasphemes. "She became an animagus for you, didn't she? Where exactly is your head, Moony?"

Remus doesn't answer that and after a moment, Sirius sighs gustily, muttering something under his breath. Neither Remus or Hermione had told Sirius about Hermione's owl. Neither had had to. He'd smirked after he'd mentioned it the first time and they'd gawked at him, tapping the side of his nose in explanation.

"You don't actually think anything gets by me, do you?" he'd asked, which had made Remus feel like an idiot because _he_ hadn't recognised Hermione's scent as an owl. His senses were confusing at times. When he'd said that, Hermione had given him a look and then proceeded to grumble for ten minutes about mental blocks.

"When are you leaving?" he asks now. Sirius looks at him.

"Tomorrow morning. It'll take a while to get there. Rem… my stuff. Do you have my stuff?"

Frowning, the werewolf shakes his head. "Your stuff? Your wand, you mean? Sirius, you know the ministry has that."

Sirius purses his lips in thought. "No, not that, although it'd be good to have it back. Feel like doing a little breaking and entering while I'm away? No?" he tries, then sighs when Remus sends him a look. "Ah, Moony, you used to be so good at that. Never mind. I was meaning some of the stuff we had at school, really. What James and I… P-Prongs shared. Just some personal possessions. Do you have that?"

Remus has to clear his throat. "Er, yeah," he says roughly, looking down and fidgeting with his quill. He doesn't know why he hasn't thought of it before. Sirius shouldn't have had to ask for the bloody stuff. "Sorry, Padfoot, I should've given them to you earlier. I'll get them now."

He gets up and heads to him room, rooting around in the back of the wardrobe. Pulling out a box, he stops as memories hit him full force and make him sway backwards. He hasn't opened this box for years and he suddenly really doesn't want to open it now.

"Take it, my boy," Dumbledore had said to him a week after Lily and James's death and Sirius's incarceration. Remus had taken two large steps away from the thing, his hands firmly behind his back, but Dumbledore had insisted, and he'd only been able to look through it a few times over the years, each time not managing to get anywhere near the bottom of the box before he couldn't look at it anymore. He stares at the top of the age-worn cardboard and rubs his aching eyes, feeling much older than his years as he turns and leaves the room, box in hand.

"Here," he says quietly, placing it on the floor next to Sirius's chair. There hadn't been much left in the cottage at Godric's Hollow – there hadn't been much of the cottage left at all – but enough had been saved. Remus doesn't know who had gone through Sirius's flat or why they'd bothered to save anything, but he's grateful now that they had.

Sirius does the same Remus did. He stares at box silently, then still without saying anything, he gets up and picks it up, leaving for his own room. The door closes with a soft snick and Remus sits, trying to work through his money woes for another half hour before he gives up, not able to concentrate.

He doesn't sleep much that night, and when he gets up in the morning, he knows instantly the Sirius is already gone. The house feels bare.

 _Goodbyes are overrated, Moony,_ the note his finds on the kitchen table says, _d_ _on't know when I'll be back or even if I will be back. Take care of yourself, mate; I'll see you soon in one way or another. And stop being a clueless arse and talk to Hermione, would you? You might be surprised at what you find out._

The werewolf sits alone at the table for a long time, not yet able to face the now much emptier house.

~0~

Remus goes through three full moons on his own. The moons are miserable nights, bordering on horrific, and the loneliness after the first has him lethargic for days afterwards. It's only the threat of losing his job that gets him going again, trudging through the days and trudging home again to sit and do nothing, waiting to be called to action. He's curious and more than slightly worried about Hermione's mission, but he doesn't ask Dumbledore where she is because he knows he won't get an answer. And although he does get the occasional owl from her, the contents make it clear she doesn't know that Sirius is no longer there.

He doesn't enlighten her.

Sirius writes more than Remus expects him to. His letters are full of information about Harry, surprising Remus again, and the quickly become not at all rare comment about Ella, something that's very telling to Remus. Sirius doesn't love easily. He can't. It takes a lot to get him there, but when he is there, it's strong, loyal and wholehearted.

Ella may not know it but she has a force to be reckoned with solidly in her corner. The thought makes Remus smile.

The moons pass, as does the second task, and the third is creeping closer, Remus eager for letters from Sirius and slightly panicked about everything that seemed to be happening back in the wings. It isn't right. It's too much for a fourteen-year-old boy to handle and he's already basically made up his mind when he gets an owl from Minerva McGonagall of all people. His eyebrows reach his hairline as he reads the letter, and then a smile grows, slowly becoming megawatt with relief and anticipation.

 _You and Miss Granger are a part of his family, Remus. You should be here to see him through this._

His reply is instant and he's in a good mood in the two days leading up to the next moon, despite the expected protesting from his body. An hour before the moon rises, he removes his clothes and makes his way down into the basement that a strong extension charm has provided, sitting on a load of cushions in the corner to wait. He sucks in a breath when the cold heat starts to creep through his marrow, jaw clenching and eyes closing.

Those eyes snap open when his even further enhanced senses are flooded with marigold.

 _What?!_

"No," he mumbles, vision wavering, and just as marigold permeates the room and sinks into his skin, the wards breaking with unexpected force and the door smashing open, the moon peaks and Remus opens his mouth and screams.

He's burning. Cracking and splitting and breaking apart. _B_ _urning alive._ So cold _._ The sounds are atrocious and the screams turn hoarse and become howls, and eons later he falls to the floor and shakes, little whimpers falling from between his newly lengthened jaws.

Something not quite sharp runs gently over his nose. The trill is a worried question and a single eye opens to see the face of a small brown screech owl, bright yellow eyes staring right at him.

 _Hermione._

What is she doing here? He asks her physically by snuffing at her body, grinning in his head when she takes exception to his nose and the little nip of his teeth, flaring her wings at him and clicking her curved beak in aggravation while hopping back. Some of his amusement must have shown though, because her head cants and then she's hopping forward again determinedly, moving around him and pushing her beak into his side.

Remus turns his head and looks at her. Then, with her continued encouragement, he slowly and carefully gets to his feet.

It's the start of a night like he's never had before. With Sirius, he's quite active. Playful, so to speak, because Sirius doesn't let him be anything else. With Hermione, however, he watches. He forgets about the questions swimming through his human mind, and sits or stands and watches her fly around and explore the room, chitter and squawk at him, and hop around his feet. He watches constantly and the warmth inside him blooms as the night passes, feelings he's been determined to suppress resurfacing and swarming out of control.

He can't begin to describe how fucking _grateful_ he is that she's here and he just can't take his eyes off her.

Hours later, the moon sets and the pain storms through him. Remus whines weakly and collapses, howling becoming screaming, tearing his throat. His head spins and as it does every so often, the pain is too much and his consciousness deserts him. It doesn't last long, however, and soon after he wakes to the feeling of a lightweight blanket draped over him and a hand running through his hair. Stretching and wincing as his muscles shriek in protest, he groans.

"Hermione?"

The hand pauses and draws away. Remus blinks open his eyes and looks into her drawn, pale face, worry and relief front and centre.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

He can't do anything but stare. He's somehow leaning back against the wall, blanket covering his legs, and the woman is crouching next to him, a tentative smile on her face. She's normal. She's utterly normal, with her forever out of control hair and her concern, the stable in his life, even when she wasn't there. And now she's here.

She here. She's _here._

She's there for him when he needs.

His chest tightens so much it makes it hard to breathe. His emotions are suffocating and his hand is reaching without his mind's say-so.

Hermione freezes when his fingers touch her cheek. Her skin is soft; so soft, and a little chilled from being in the unheated basement for twelve or more hours. Her eyes are wide and she still doesn't move when he brushes the tips of his fingers gently along her nose, down around her chin and then up onto her mouth. He stops and she swallows and they're halted in time, his fingers just barely resting on her parted lips. The silence is so sharp, it hurts.

He's never wanted to kiss her more.

"Don't do this to me, Remus."

Having found the sight of his hand on his skin fascinating, he looks up at the strangled words, her lips moving, his fingers slipping. There's heat scorching his belly and quickly blazing through his veins that he can't tell is physically or emotional, but her tone and her eyes have a jolt following quickly in its wake. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, and the amount of pain and confusion, the amount of fear, the amount of… _something else_ looking back at him almost makes him pull away.

Almost.

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly, the words so bloody hard to say. They don't talk like they used to, not about the important things, and he realizes that in a disturbing moment of clarity. She's his best friend. Above and beyond everything else, she's always been his best friend, something they've come back to in the past couple of years. So why don't they talk?

The _thing_ has always been a wall between them. It's terrifying to breach it because he isn't worthy. He's never been worthy, of anyone, but especially not her.

Never, ever been worthy of her.

 _Why do the people that matter the most always scare you so fucking much?_

"You can't do this to me," Hermione whispers. Remus frowns in confusion and she lets out a strange little sound and suddenly scrambles away from him, getting to her feet. Remus's hand hovers in the air for a moment and then falls to his lap. His eyes are on her and he sees the moment she decides.

"Don't run!" he blurts. Her head whips up and her body goes still, but it's clear she's ready to bolt at any second. Remus's chest _aches._

"Please, don't run. Please. I've been running all my life. I don't… I'm not… you're everything to me. Please, H-Hermione, don't run. Can't we just talk?"

Her hands are clasped in front of her stomach. Her eyes are on the floor. She literally trembling with the need to leave the room, and Remus prays she finds it in herself to stay. She isn't a coward; he's always known that. It's him that's the coward and he doesn't know where all this courage has abruptly come from.

His leaning against a cold stone wall with only a blanket to cover his modesty – something he's already lost anyway, considering she had to have been the one who covered him, not to mention she saw him change. It isn't the most dignified position to be in, and he'd be on his feet if he could've found the strength to rise. He's rapidly getting cold and his bones, his very bones, are aching from being torn apart and turned inside out twice. He's hungry and exhausted, and at his lowest, but for some reason there isn't a better time to do this. No other time would be right. He doesn't even know _why_ he's doing this. It's instinctive.

She's turned him away before. It would destroy him if she does it again.

Breath shuddering from him, he inches himself up further and straightens the blanket. "Hermione?"

Her mouth tightens when he says her name as an anxiety-ridden question. Then, still not looking up, she says so softly he barely hears her; "you broke my heart."

Remus's head rears back. "What? No."

"Yes," she says, louder, and she finally looks up, meeting the shock in Remus's eyes with an expression so fierce, his heart sprints. "You did. I laid myself out bare for you, Remus, and you made it into nothing. _Nothing._ Like my feelings weren't worth anything at all. You _ignored them._ I can't do that again. It ripped me to pieces the first time and I don't know if I'd have the strength to put myself back together again if I took the chance. I'm not a convenience, and I refuse to make myself into one or let you make me into one because you may've suddenly had a change of heart. You're my friend and I cherish that, but th-that's all. I'm… fuck it, no, I'm _not_ sorry. I'm _not._ "

Floored, Remus gapes. "Hermione, I don't understand. What are you talking about?" he asks, blinking when she laughs bitterly, the sound tearing a hole in his heart. She shakes her head and runs a hand through her hair.

"I wouldn't have thought selective memory would be something you'd possess. I guess I was wrong. Can you get up or do you need help?"

Confusion has a tangle of distress invading his insides, but pride had him grabbing the blanket and very slowly pushing himself up the wall until he's standing shakily, sweat trickling down the side of his face. He's still looking at her and his brain is rapidly going over each and every interaction he can remember having with her, distress compounding when he comes up with literally _nothing_ that would explain her accusation. In his mind, he hasn't done what she's said he has. But watching her now, he knows that he can't say that.

He can't dig deeper because she's shut down. He can see that in her body language; her face. In her eyes. She's too stubborn to explain herself further; too stubborn to believe him if he tries to ramble through his own sort of explanation. She wouldn't want to believe him. Remus grimaces and swallows down the churning nausea.

He's hurt her very badly somewhere along the line. And he has no clue, _no clue_ , when or where or how it happened.

"I can manage," he says. Her eyes are distant and her nod is precise, but when he takes just one step and his body betrays him with a violent wobble, decades-familiar exasperation floods her expression.

"No, you bloody can't. Stupid git. Let me help you."

She's wrapping her arm around his waist before he can answer and the trip up the short flight of stairs and down the hallway to his bedroom is wordless. The blanket falls when he climbs into bed.

"Sleep. I'll bring you some food in a bit." Then she's walking away and Remus wants with everything inside him to call her back. To get her to expand so that he can possibly figure out what it was he did and where he fucked up so enormously. But sleep is a drugging insistence and the words fade to nothing in his head. His eyes close.

She's gone when he wakes, a full plate on a tray on his nightstand, charmed to keep warm, the only evidence that she was there in the first place. That and his memories. And ten days later, when a young boy dies, Voldemort comes back and the world turns to a raging cesspool of terror and panic, he looks at Hermione over Harry's painful, soul-wrenching sobs and knows that the time to ask isn't likely to come anytime soon.

Sirius is right. There's a war going on and _that_ as of now is the most important thing.


	12. Like His Measure

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** I own my cat (or she owns me) and everything within my little flat. Unfortunately, the rights to Harry Potter are not something that resides within my little flat.

 **A/N –** Important chapter. I'm playing fast and loose with canon here (Eeek!), so please do leave me your thoughts at the end. Also, there's a link on my profile to an amazing Remione fanvid inspired by this story! It's a beautiful piece of work that you really need to go check out, and don't forget to leave the wonderful creator ( **Primrue** ) some mega love!

 _Sirius is right. There's a war going on and_ _that_ _as of now is the most important thing._

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve: Like His Measure**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

She's elusive as the wind. With the summer comes the reformation of the Order of the Phoenix, and many members, as little as they are, are sent off on their own missions, Hermione included. Remus thinks it's the same mission she was on before the war-beginning fourth task, but he doesn't have time to question her about it – as if she'd tell him anyway – because Dumbledore begins making tentative nudges in the wild werewolf packs direction again.

He doesn't want to do it. He does _not_ want to do it. The headmaster never comes out directly and says that he wants Remus as a spy once more, but Remus feels it in every look. Underlying every word, every subtle topic. As if he wants Remus to make the suggestion himself. The idea lodges in his brain and sits there and simmers, and as they reach out to past allies and recruit as swiftly and thoroughly as they can, it haunts his thoughts endlessly.

For the greater good. For the greater good.

For the greater fucking good.

He knows that it's only a matter of time. His own sense of nobility takes away any choice he's under the illusion of having, but he's absolutely _terrified_ of going back. There wasn't enough time for Moony to shove him aside the second time he gave himself to the packs, but if he does it again, he thinks he'll be there for months; perhaps years. The second war has only just begun and he needs to bury himself within pack and pack life if he has any chance of finding out anything useful. He doesn't want to lose his humanity; doesn't want to lose who he is. Because he's scared shitless that if he loses it this time, he'll never get it back. And then what help will he be?

He needs to talk to someone. He needs to talk to her. With his childhood home becoming headquarters and being ordered to stay inside like a good dog, Sirius is lost in his head, in his bitterness so deep at times, Remus doesn't know if he'll ever be able to pull himself completely out. He isn't an option; Remus won't burden him further. Hermione's all that's left and who he desperately wants to talk to, but he can't because Hermione's avoiding him even when she isn't out doing the Order's work. And he can't anyway because no one but Albus and Poppy know what happened to him the first time he was with the packs, and how hard it was to be Remus again when Dumbledore had forcibly pulled him home. He'd never told them. He's too ashamed to tell them.

They know about Moony. He can't change that. But he can keep from them the strange combination of Remus and Moony, heavy on the Moony, he was when he came home. They don't need to know about that.

So the idea sits, a thorn in his mind, while Order members, their families, and Harry's friends are brought to 12 Grimmauld Place. And it sits when Sirius argues with Dumbledore about the fact that he isn't bringing _Harry_ to 12 Grimmauld Place like he should be. Dementors attack Harry and his cousin, Harry arrives finally, and the idea ferments. He isn't the same boy as he was only months before.

The idea grows tendrils.

"Do you think he's all right?" he murmurs to Sirius after Harry heads up the stairs, eyes hard. Ella, Ginny and Ron are standing on the landing above and Ella holds out her hand to him as he reaches them. Harry pushes right past her.

"No," Sirius mutters back, shadowed eyes on his godson. "I don't think he's all right at all. Nothing about this is all right. Fucking Dumbledore."

He turns and stalks into the kitchen and a crescendo of banging and crashing can be heard a moment or so later. Remus stays at the bottom of the stairs, hands in pockets and frowning upwards, mind ticking.

Fingers very briefly slide over the back of his wrist.

"I've got him."

It the first time she's spoken to him first, openly touched him, since the night of the full moon. Remus's breath catches and he watches her ascend the stairs, chest tight. When the shouting starts, he and Sirius look up from their whiskey-laced teas and wait in heavy, tense silence.

Harry Potter has his mother's temper.

~0~

The trial goes well from a Harry-not-being-expelled point of view. He's free to continue in the magical world, free to go back to school. And September 1st comes around quickly after a summer of Harry's nonstop brooding. He protests loudly about being kept from Order meetings – Molly is a hurricane that even Sirius can't battle through – and communicates with no one but Sirius, Ron and Ella. Maybe because of this, Sirius goes with them to King's Cross against all advise not to, and the combination of amusement and anxiety Remus feels doesn't go away until he's safely back behind the wards.

The moons aren't happy times. They never are, but with having the little owl with him once and not knowing if she'll be there again, Remus is more uneasy than normal during the summer. He doesn't spend the moons at Grimmauld with the children there. It's the only time he goes back to his rundown home, and that odd combination of pleasure and apprehension accompanies him there because Sirius does as well. Every time. It lightens Remus's heart but also makes it sink because he's not supposed to be burdening him. And his head snaps up so quickly the first time he and Sirius apparate into the living room and marigold permeates the house, Sirius snorts and lets out a bark of laughter.

Remus's look is black. "You're such a wanker," he mutters, ignoring his best mate when the comment only makes Sirius laugh harder. Hermione's expression is curious when she walks into the room. Her lips twitch and she shakes her head at the tears on Sirius's face.

"All set?" she asks Remus, turning to him. It takes a moment for Remus to answer, and when he does, it isn't want he means to say at all.

"I am now."

"Oh, sweet Merlin, Moony!" Sirius gasps, once again howling with laughter. He clutches at his stomach and collapses onto the sofa, laughing so hard he's shaking the furniture. Remus's face heats at least ten degrees.

"Fuck you, Padfoot."

"Not me, Moony! Not me at all!"

Remus growls under his breath and strides towards the basement stairs. An hour after that sees a tired and sore werewolf, a hyperactive dog and a very small owl facing the moon together. When Remus wakes up in the morning, it's only Sirius and a note waiting for him, which Sirius hands over with that constantly irritating smirk.

 _Stop doubting. It doesn't mean that I won't be here for you._

It's the first and only time she refers to their nonsensical conversation after their moon and it has so many knots forming in Remus's gut, he doesn't know what to think. Perhaps sensing that, Sirius doesn't say anything as they arrive back at Grimmauld. His hand on Remus's shoulder is a comfort he doesn't give often nowadays and Remus takes it with him when he slogs his way to his room and his bed.

His head is so full he doesn't think he'll sleep. His body's exhaustion kills that theory.

Remus is absurdly grateful.

~0~

"I'LL FUCKING KILL HIM!"

The enraged shout startles the occupants of the kitchen into silence. Recognizing the eruption of temper, Remus and Sirius share a look and get to their feet, quickly heading for the library. The scene they encounter is familiar in the fact that both have seen her react this way many times over the years when someone she loves is threatened, or something happens she doesn't approve of. Hermione Granger is very good at making her disapproval known, and she does that now, pacing furiously from one end of the room to the other, a letter in her hand, her face white with anger. She spins at the sound of the door and when she sees Sirius and Remus, she shoots towards them, eyes wild.

"Do you know what that fucking barmy old man is doing?! What he's letting happen at his school?! He's mad! Demented! He's lost the fucking plot! He's more powerful than the entire ministry with one hand tied behind his back and he's bloody well _letting this happen_! I'll kill him, and that bitch for even _thinking_ she can lay a hand on _my_ kids-"

"Laying a hand on the kids?" Sirius barks, cutting her off. "What the fuck are you on about?" he demands, and Hermione huffs and shoves the letter into his chest, then resumes pacing. Remus's heart starts to slam when a low, violent growl rumbles through the room. The letter is shaking in Sirius's hands

"What is it?" he whispers, wide-eyed. Hermione snatches the letter from Sirius, who stares down blankly at trembling, ball-up fists, still growling, and thrusts it at Remus. Remus takes it gingerly, as if it'll explode.

He almost wishes it would.

Taking a deep breath, his eyes trail the neat penmanship on the parchment, and the more he reads, the harder it is to believe. The letter is from Ella. And it says, in plain black and white, that the year's Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is using Dark magic as punishment during her detentions – of which Harry has had many.

 _He has 'I must not tell lies' carved deep into the back of his hand. And Dumbledore knows about it, Mum. McGonagall knows what she's doing, so Dumbledore must, right? McGonagall's tried to stop her but it didn't work. I don't know why Dumbledore hasn't intervened, but I'm afraid Harry or someone else is going to get seriously hurt. He's already seriously hurt. Can you do anything?_

Remus gapes at the letter, comprehension an unknown entity.

"This can't be real," he breathes, stunned. When both Hermione and Sirius round on him, insult on both their faces, he takes a step back and holds up his hands.

"I'm not calling Ella a liar! I'm just saying... Dumbledore's the _headmaster._ His job among many is to protect his students! He _wouldn't_ let this happen if he knew!"

"For fuck's sake, Moony, when are you going to pull your head out of the arse and stop being so fucking naïve?" Sirius snaps at him, spearing a hand through his hair in frustration. "You _know_ he let me rot in that hellhole for years when he knew I was innocent!"

"And you!" Hermione scowls, ripping the letter from his hand and pointing a finger at him, parchment screwed up in her palm. "He uses you like his own personal pawn! He let us believe you were the traitor, all so that he could get an in with the werewolf packs! He treated you like an animal, Remus! I don't understand why you trust him so much!"

Remus swallows. "Because he's the Order's leader and a great man," he says, but even to himself, his voice sounds weak. There have been little niggles over the years, little thoughts as he's grown older, things that didn't match up. Things he hasn't wanted to believe.

Albus Dumbledore is the man who let him into Hogwarts. Who'd given him a life when he hadn't thought life for a creature like him was possible. Who'd given him friends, and family beyond his mother and father. Who'd given him Sirius and James and Lily.

And Hermione.

Harry.

Albus Dumbledore had been his knight in shining armour when he was a child, and that thought, that _feeling_ , has continued into adulthood. He doesn't want to believe that the man isn't perfect, even in the face of constant proof that he isn't. The idea of perfection is a childish idealism, but it's one he desperately wants to keep.

Isn't he allowed that? Just the one?

"We need to speak with him," he says, shaking his head firmly when Sirius sneers and Hermione scowls and opens her mouth to argue. "There has to be a reason for this. We won't know until we speak to him."

An hour later, that last, childish idealism is ripped to shreds.

"I'm afraid to say that I am aware of it," Dumbledore says calmly from behind his large desk, hands folded in a neat pile on top of it. His eyes are steady, tranquil even, and the hint of frustration and sorrow that shadows his expression looks so starkly manufactured, Remus needs to sit down.

How could he not have seen?

"Unfortunately Madam Umbridge is ministry appointed, so I have no power over her or her actions. The ministry has great influence that I cannot counter at this present point of time, which means taking drastic action will likely lead to Hogwarts being shut down. We are taking care of the students as best we can, but for now, nothing more can be done."

Hermione bites out something in return, but Remus doesn't hear it. His mind is too separated. His heart too shattered. Albus Dumbledore is a great man, yes, a man who's done unimaginable good in their world. But even great men stray. He knows that.

Letting his students, _children_ , get hurt is a fucking _wide_ bit of wandering. And it's one he can't accept.

"Remus?"

Her hand on his shoulder draws him back. "I'm coming," he says quietly, getting up and following Hermione to the floo. He senses the shift behind him and the word "don't," bursts out before he can stop it. Hermione glances over her shoulder at him.

"You and I need to talk, my boy."

 _I'm not your boy,_ Remus thinks for the second time in his life. And as he steps into the floo and leaves the headmaster's office with a lot less hope than when he entered, he thinks that maybe, this time, it just might be true.

~0~

"If they don't get into trouble, they won't get punished," Hermione says an hour later, having resumed her pacing the instant they'd gotten back to Grimmauld. Sirius had exploded when she'd told him what Dumbledore had said and a section of the library, at least 50 books, had become a smoking wreck via a surge of what could only be described as accidental magic. Hermione had thrown him the dirtiest look imaginable and repaired it with a quick wave of her wand. "And I _know_ they have a right to protest being told such large and obvious lies," she continues, flapping a hand in Sirius's indignant direction. "I'm not saying that. The bitch isn't teaching them a thing and that's the other reason they're landing in detention. Even they know that they need to learn to defend themselves."

"Don't let Molly hear you say that," Sirius mutters a little bitterly, sprawled back in one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs, a glass of amber in his hand. He shoves a hand through his hair and takes a sip while Hermione pauses and rubs at the temples, eyes half-closed. Remus can see her headache as if it's physical.

"If they're learning what they need to learn, they shouldn't kick up so much fuss in her classroom. In theory anyway," she says when Sirius snorts. "They need someone to teach them. Teach all who's willing."

Sirius sets his tumbler down and leans forward, eyes on Hermione. "What are you suggesting?"

"That they get taught what they need to be taught."

"By who?"

The question seems to stump Hermione. She sighs and takes the other chair, rubbing at her temples again. "I… I'm not sure yet. Someone trustworthy. Someone who knows what they're doing."

"Harry could do it," Sirius says. Hermione's hands fall and she glares.

"You're kidding. He's a child, Sirius."

"He's a leader," Sirius counters, voice insistent, "and he's been through too much to be considered a child now, Hermione. He's fifteen. He'll be of age in two years."

"Which is exactly why he needs to be shielded from some things. Not to the extent that Molly wants," Hermione says when Sirius scowls and sits back with a look of disgust. "I know it's too late for that. And I know he'd be more than capable if he put his mind to it. But he needs to be taught just as much as his friends do, and teaching the others won't help _him_ learn. It needs to be someone else."

"I'll do it."

Two heads snap in his direction, eyes wide with surprise. Remus looks back at them, more than a little startled by what he's just said, but as the silence lengthens, the idea takes root. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then leans away from the wall he's been propped against since he and Hermione and walked out of the floo.

"It makes sense, doesn't it? They need to learn. I'll teach them."

Hermione's lips purse. Her eyes are intent on him. "You're willing?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't," Remus says quietly, hands in his pockets. There's a ball of solid resolve in his chest, and something like rebellion. Dumbledore can't know about this.

Remus gets the impression he wouldn't approve.

"I think it's a fantastic idea, Moony!" Sirius says, his face splitting into a grin. He gets up and bounds towards Remus, throwing his arm around his shoulder when he stops at his side. "If we can get the kids out of the school, then we can-"

"They're staying at Hogwarts," Remus interrupts him, flicking a glance at Hermione to see her frowning and nodding in agreement. When Sirius scowls, he folds his arms. "They have to stay there, Padfoot. It's safest."

"Yes, because a giggling pink toad using magic to cut into their skin makes the school safe," Sirius mutters, but he grimaces and lets it go. "Where are you going to do it then?"

Remus doesn't have an answer for that, and one look tells him that Hermione doesn't either. Blowing out an irritated breath, the witch rolls her shoulders.

"Let's wait to see how many sign up first. You'll owl Harry?" she asks Sirius, then sighs when Sirius nods. "Good. Try to get him to be at least a _little_ discreet, would you? The less Dumbledore knows, the better."

Her eyes sharpen as she says it, and she taps her fingers against the arm of the chair. Remus watches her, instinctively knowing she's got something on her mind; something she's not ready to share yet. He's hopeful that when she is ready to share, she'll come to him first. It isn't a guarantee, however.

Sometimes he wishes it were possible to travel back in time more than a few hours.

Harry's answer isn't long in coming. He's very enthusiastic about Remus resuming teaching and promises to 'discreetly' sniff out others who want to be taught properly. He also says that he'll get Ella onto looking for a place to conduct lessons, and Remus smiles to himself when he hears that. The young witch won't allow him to leave her in the background.

It's the week of the full moon when Harry gets back to them, and two weeks after it when the date they set for the first meeting rolls around. Remus is more nervous than he expects, mostly because they're as positive as they can be that they're doing this under the Order leader's nose. What they do know is that Dolores Umbridge has no clue what's going on, and with knowing that they're about to start real lessons, Harry and the rest of his band of trouble makers are receiving less detentions.

Not nil. But less.

At 10am on a Sunday, Remus floos to Hogwarts, into a room he had no idea existed. The Room of Requirement is a secret the Marauders hadn't discovered in their time in school, and although he'll never say it aloud, Remus is a bit disgruntled about that as he peruses the magnificent room. Still, it's unplottable and its floo isn't connected to the Hogwarts floo system, so it's the perfect place to have their meetings.

Remus almost chokes on his tongue when he hears the name of the group he's going to teach.

"Dumbledore's Army," he says faintly, rubbing the back of his neck and eyeing an excited-looking Harry, who's grinning at him and all but bouncing on the spot. The other students have yet to arrive. Ella assures him there's a fair amount coming. "That's… that's a good name, lad. I'm just not sure it's a wise one. What if it gets discovered?"

"Oh, we've got that covered too," Harry says, waving Remus's concerns away. "We're the DA, yeah? The Defence Association. Nobody's going to relate that back to Dumbledore if the worst happens. But it isn't going to happen anyway, so there isn't anything to worry about, is there?"

Internally, Remus sighs. James's son is very young. "Sure, Harry," he says, and not long after he's facing a room full of students of various ages; much more than he's been led to believe. "A fair amount," he mutters to himself, eyes roving the 60 plus students, and when his gaze falls on Ella, he narrows his eyes at her sly little grin.

Bloody Black.

Despite his nervousness, it goes extremely well. Remus splits the students into groups and ropes a few older students into helping him teach. He's happy to note that what he discovered about Harry in third year is still true now; the boy's a natural at Defence. He's soon helping others along, proving what Sirius had said about his leadership qualities, and when the hour comes to an end, Remus is quietly pleased with the scattered results from all across the board.

It's obvious a lot of them have a long way to go. But that's what he's there for, and the thought and the feeling it brings with it shocks a quiet laugh from him once the students have trickled out of the room.

He's _missed_ this.

"See you next week, Professor?" Harry asks from the door, tilting his head and smirking at him when Remus's brows rise sharply. A smile soon tugs at the werewolf's lips and he rolls his eyes.

"We'll see. You've got your coins. Just practise as much as you can, all right?"

"Will do," Harry says, fingering the charmed coin Hermione had given Remus to hand out as a way of letting the students know when to meet. His hand raises in a wave as he pulls the door open, then he pauses before he crosses the threshold.

"Remus?"

"Yeah?" Remus answers, turning from picking up the mattresses and laying them upright against the wall. The floo is active but he's waiting until all the students have left the seventh floor safely. He looks at Harry with an inquisitive expression.

"I'm glad you're doing this. It's… erm, I like spending… I-I'm just really glad you're doing this."

A flush runs up Remus's throat at the stilted words. It a perfect match to Harry's face. "It's no problem, son," he says softly, looking down and having to clear his throat at Harry's wide answering smile. "Y-you better go though. Don't get caught."

"Right you are, Professor," Harry says, saluting him. He grins again, then leaves, and Remus's whoosh of breath is loud in the silent room after he's gone.

He's a teacher. The role fits him like a fucking _glove_ , and it's a role he manages to pull off in secret for months.

Christmas comes and goes, the Weasley family facing more than they should during the holiday, but Arthur survives. Harry starts Occlumency lessons with Snape at Dumbledore's insistence and the look in Hermione's eyes deepens. Remus holds himself back from asking. He transforms and he teaches, and Hermione begins glancing in his direction with a expression that bemuses and befuddles him.

"I like that your happy," she says one night she's over at Grimmauld, after catching him watching her watching him. Her eyes are bright and warm and looking into them makes it hard to swallow. Remus drops his gaze to his tea, both hands cradling the steaming mug. "You're hardly ever happy, Remus. Truly happy. It's n-nice to see it in you now."

Across the table, Sirius snorts. "I know one thing that'd make him extremely happy," he mumbles, voice muffled by his own mug. Hermione throws him a glower and after she leaves the kitchen, Remus echoes her.

"Was that necessary?"

"Yes," Sirius says curtly, looking up and pinning Remus with his eternally moody grey eyes. He's been angry a lot more than warranted lately and it'd be a lie if Remus says it doesn't worry him. "Yes, it fucking was. You both need to get your shit together and fucking _see_ what's right in front of you. Grow some ruddy balls, Moony, would you? This mooning over her bollocks is depressing. For once in your life, take the bloody reins and do something for _you._ "

He shoves the chair back and stomps from the room, heading back to his Buckbeak vigil. Remus sighs into his tea.

"I am doing something for me," he whispers, frowning. He's no longer constantly thinking about maybe having to go back to the packs, or what happened with Hermione, and the pride that he feels when Neville successfully manages to disarm his opponent, or when he begins Patronus lessons and Ella achieves a shield, verifies that teaching the DA members benefits him just as much as it does them.

He's more outside his comfort zone that he's really ever been. Doing anything more would be too much, and he won't push her.

He won't lose what they've got now. He's been through that once already and it isn't a time he likes to remember.

The meetings slow in frequency when the ministry takes over the school completely, Umbridge becomes headmistress and exams begin. Remus spends a lot more time at Grimmauld, worrying about Hogwarts and its students, and Hermione spends a lot more time _not_ at Grimmauld. When she is, she has a book in her hand, and Remus overhears her telling Molly and a slowly healing Arthur that she's doing quite a bit of research at the ministry. Research for what, Remus doesn't know. But again, he doesn't ask.

The wind brings a quaking change in mid-June. Having just arrived back at the house after visiting Minerva at St Mungo's and having a drink with Flitwick at the Three Broomsticks – where he's startled and a bit embarrassed to learn that Minerva of course _did_ know what he and her students have been getting up to over the course of the year, and that she grudgingly approved – he's makes himself a cuppa and settled into a plush, transfigured chair in the library with the intention of flicking on the wireless and reading for an hour or two before bed. He's ten pages in the first time he hears it.

" _Sirius Black."_

Remus looks up. The voice is tinny and muffled, just barely audible under the sound of the Weird Sisters, and he waits, tense, eyes flicking around the library, to see if it happens again. After a long moment and no voice, he cautiously goes back to his book.

" _Sirius_ _Black."_

The book drops to the floor and Remus is on his feet, wand in hand. He hasn't imagined it this time.

" _Sirius Black!"_

"Who's there?" Remus hisses, an abrupt wave of his wand silencing the wireless. He slowly prowls the room, senses alert. The voice sounds somehow familiar. "Who said that?"

" _DAD!"_

With a lunge, Remus snatches up an old sweatshirt of Sirius's that's lying on the floor by the window. His hand bumps against something hard and he dives into the right pocket, pulling out a mirror that transports him years into the past. His mouth falls open at what he sees in it.

"Ella? What's wrong?"

" _Professor, Remus, my father, is he there?"_ Ella asks him through the mirror, expression frantic. It looks like she's trying not to cry. _"Please tell me he's there! He has to be there!"_

"All right, calm down, of course he's here," Remus says, frowning at the fear in her eyes. "He's upstairs. I'll get him, okay?"

" _Quickly!"_ Ella urges, and Remus finds himself hurrying to follow the order. He shouts Sirius's name up the stairs and then follows his shout, ignoring the erupting screams from the portrait in the entrance hall. Sirius exits his room just as he reaches the door.

"For fuck's sake, Moony, you set the bloody bitch off- why do you have my mirror?"

" _Dad!"_ Ella cries and the mirror is out of Remus's hand in less than a heartbeat.

"Ella? What's wrong, sweetheart?"

What sounds like a sob has Remus stopping himself from rushing forward. Sirius's knuckles whiten around the glass.

" _You are there! You are! I told him not to be stupid but Kreacher said you weren't and he wouldn't listen when I said I'd ask this way and now he and the rest have gone and they're going to get themselves killed, Dad! You have to stop him!"_

"Ella, honey, you're not making any sense," Sirius says, voice shockingly gentle. If he wasn't so worried, Remus would be impressed. It seems Sirius and his daughter's relationship has progressed more than he's aware. "I need you to calm down and tell me what happened. We'll get everything sorted, love, but I need to know what you know, all right?"

What follows floods Remus with fear. There isn't even an inkling of Sirius not going, and after reassuring his daughter and telling her to find a teacher she trusts and tell them what's happened, he's through the floo without a word. It feels as if it takes eons for Remus to contact the rest of the Order and then search desperately for Dumbledore and let him know. He feels every second like a strike to his heart.

He can't get a hold of Hermione. But he can't worry about that at the moment because Harry and his friends need him.

Remus hears the battle from floors above when he does make it to the ministry, and there's chaos everywhere and he doesn't know where to look first when he finally bursts into the cavernous room. The air reeks of burnt ozone from the never ending spells being thrown from all corners, blood a sickening underlying scent. His ears ring and he has to squint through the dust and the patches of atmosphere fragmented by spells that have taken on a physical quality, and for a long moment, it's overwhelming. His heart races and he can't breathe and the split-second thought of leaving, retreating, going back to where it's safe and no one is trying to kill the people he loves has him freezing and then moving further into the room, wand drawn, skirting the outsides of the battle.

He's no fucking coward. Harry _needs_ him.

A cackle and Sirius's answering taunt has him turning towards the ominous looking dais standing directly in the middle of the room. He flinches when a spell hits the wall next to him and breaks a great chunk off that crashes to the ground, but he moves around it and fires stunner after stunner, trying to make his way over to Sirius and Harry (sweet mother of Merlin, _Harry_ ) who are fighting for their lives, Sirius with a large grin on his face. Catching a flash of light out the corner of his eye, he flings himself to the side, then grimly pushes himself to his feet and turns to face the masked Death Eater with his wand arm pulled back, a curse on his tongue.

A stunner isn't enough. Remus knows that. There's no remorse when he drops the Death Eater like a rock, blood splattered against the horrible whiteness of his mask. It isn't Dark magic but it's close, and this is war, isn't it? He doesn't know if he should feel remorse.

He isn't dead. Just incapacitated. Very badly incapacitated.

Bellatrix's insane giggles reach across the din and the downed-by-Remus's-wand Death Eater is forgotten, because he has to get to Harry. To Sirius. They need to get the kids out unharmed and to safety and the only way to do that is to end the battle. Remus zeroes in on Harry again and by Merlin's good graces, manages to weave his way through the battlefield unnoticed until he's nearly at their side.

Harry blinks when he sees him.

"Remus!" he shouts in relief, taking a step in the werewolf's direction and narrowly avoiding getting hit by a curse. A snarl rumbles in Remus's throat and his wand slashes through the air. The enemy aiming at his cub drops.

"Don't lose focus!" he orders the boy when Harry scrambles to his feet, face pale under a coating of drying blood. Sirius is trading curse after curse with his cousin and only a miniscule flick of his eyes lets Remus know he's aware he's there. There a very tiny shift in posture and Remus's knowledge that Harry's protection is now his is instinctive. Sirius's entire concentration is solely on Bellatrix.

He shouldn't be shocked by the trust.

Remus loses all comprehension of time as they continue fighting. The Death Eaters are holding their own and the Order members have a continuous split focus, the trial of protecting the teenagers as well as themselves beginning to show. His muscles are trembling and sweat is stinging his eyes, but he shoots spell after spell, lungs burning and attention absolute.

That attention snaps like a twig when marigold rips through his senses.

Head turning as if lured, he sees her tumble into the room, twisting desperately and firing a spell mid-twist. The spell goes awry, an unmasked Death Eater follows her and Remus's blood chills to the point of pain, his breath choking him icy sharp in his throat. Antonin Dolohov's smirk is wide and gloating. His aim is dead-on as his arm draws back. The curse won't miss.

 _No!_

Remus isn't aware of running. There's a roaring in his mind and in his heart and time crawls to inches and vanishes without his knowledge. His vision pinpricks and he can't move fast enough, and the letters, syllables, _words_ form horrifyingly slow but much too quick, and he can't reach her, he can't get there, he can't _breathe-_

He can't live without her.

The last thing Remus sees after he slams into Hermione and his body corkscrews, and he takes the bright purple light to his heart, rendering him unconscious immediately, is Sirius standing right in front of that room-dominating dais, a similar, bright red light heading directly for him.


	13. Like His Dawning

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** Whether fanfic becomes canon or canon becomes fanfic, I still don't own it.

 **A/N –** So. Here we go then. Do make sure you drop me a line at the end of the chapter, hmm?

 _The last thing Remus sees after he slams into Hermione and his body corkscrews, and he takes the bright purple light to his heart, rendering him unconscious immediately, is Sirius standing right in front of that room-dominating dais, a similar, bright red light heading directly for him._

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen: Like His Dawning**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

It's her scent that has him waking. The deep, thick darkness is chains around his ankles; around his heart. His mind is slow and dull and utterly fragmented, lost within whatever's keeping him down, and under it all there's a muted roar of nonsensical sensation. His body moves, shifts on what it is he's lying on, and it takes him a lot longer than normal to realize that what he's feeling is pain, making his brow crease in confusion. Consciousness comes back to him in gradual, spastic bursts, marigold threading through them, and as his eyelids struggle to lift, the roar increases in volume.

Decidedly.

"…emus? Can you h-hear me? Open your eyes, Remus. P-please? Remus, please, open y-your e-eyes!"

She sounds like she's been crying. The thought tightens his brow further and light pierces the blackness, a long, low groan escaping through cracked and sore lips. He blinks halfway and forces his eyes open again when something touches his cheek; the light press of fingertips. Sight wavers and then he's looking into endless brown eyes, the depths of which steals his breath.

Or perhaps that's the pain.

"E'miiiineeeee." He slurs her name, the end of the word dying into another whimpering groan. There's a white hot knife in his chest, pulsing in time with his heart. His body shifts again unconsciously as it tries to separate itself from the physical being eating him up from the inside out.

He's been in pain before. But his less-than-functioning brain cannot supply him with a time that it's ever been worse than this.

"'Miiiiiiiinee," he hisses, eyes closing, and there's the tiniest of inhales, and then there's _something_ brushing his forehead and his cheeks, and finally his lips but he can't tell what it is. Touch is disorientating, making him feel things that aren't there; making him want to open his eyes and look because _this_ touch seems significant. He should know what this is, shouldn't he?

The pain is too much. He's sinking.

"I love you."

Sound is the last thing to go and he thinks he's imagining hearing the tiny, trembling little whisper. That isn't possible. And when he wakes next, he doesn't remember hearing it at all.

~0~

"Sirius," is the first thing he gasps when he comes back to the world the second time. His senses converge and the marigold is fainter but still lingering; daffodils and darjeeling tea overlap everything. Further away, he _thinks_ he can pick up the scent of leather and spice and coal dust, but he can't be sure. The fear screams through his chest because he remembers that dais.

He remembers how wrong it felt.

Fingers tighten around his own. "Mum! Mum, he's awake!"

"Sirius," he mumbles, blinking up at the ceiling and shifting anxiously. The pain is less this time. It's still there but it doesn't eclipse his every waking thought.

The white hot knife has turned into an anvil.

"Remus, hey, calm down, love. You're fine. Everything is fine. You'll hurt yourself more if you move too much yet."

Cloudy green eyes find soft, worried brown and he wants his hand to lift. He wants his hand against her cheek. Just to know it's real. "Sirius," he says for the third time, somehow unable to say anything else. His mind won't allow him to convey his need to know if his best mate is all right. The words won't come.

She understands. "He's fine, Remus," Hermione says quietly, smile gentle. She's leaning over him with an arm on the pillow above his head and he doesn't know whether he's imagining the heat of her fingers fluttering against his hair. "He's three beds away. There's nothing to worry about, both of you are alive and well."

 _There's always something to worry about_ , Remus thinks around the drugging relief, and it's as if the thought cues his exhaustion, because his eyes close of their own accord. He hears Hermione sigh and then the heat of her hand on the top of his head is gone.

"Let's let him sleep, all right?"

"All right," Ella answers. He hears her get up and then feels her hesitation. "Thank you for saving my mum's life," the young girl eventually whispers close to his ear. Then, with a light press of her lips against his cheek, her scent floats out into the larger room and he's alone.

Remus falls asleep half-smiling.

~0~

The third time he wakes feels like the final time. There's a solidness to his consciousness the suggests he isn't going to go under again, and he breathes in deeply, taking stock of how he feels. The anvil is still there, but it's less… anvil-ish?

There's a brick of constant ache around his heart, pointy teeth hidden. Not totally gone, just more subdued. He's had much worse.

"So you going to stay with us this time?"

Distracted by figuring out how badly he feels, Sirius's voice and scent takes Remus by surprise. His head and torso jerk up and the room spins, drawing forth a groan and a boneless slide back onto the bed.

Sirius swears. "Merlin, Moony, take it bloody easy," he says. The gritty sound of wheels on a rough stone floor has Remus forcing his eyes open, and very carefully he turns his head. His eyes widen as Sirius smirks at him.

"You're in a wheelchair," he states, shock dulling his tone. Sirius arches a sardonic brow.

"Observant of you, mate. Don't let it be said that that curse shagged up your grey matter."

Remus swallows, fear trickling down his spine. "Fuck you. Why are you in a wheelchair, Padfoot?"

"Because I have to be for the time being. It's nothing for you to worry yourself sicker over, Rem," Sirius assures him with a shake of his head and a more genuine smile. He shoves his hair back out of his face and leans forward to rest his upper body on the bed. "Everything's working as it should be. I had a brush with a magical object, is all. Poppy says I should be good as new once my system has recuperated properly. Until then, I'm to conserve my energy. The chair's the best way to get about without angering our witches."

The relief extends the dizziness. "Oh," he says, his brain absently taking note of the fact that according to the scents, he's in Hogwarts's Hospital Wing before another thought cuts the importance of the observation in half. "Harry?!"

"He's fine too. The lad saved my life, actually. The stunner hit me and would've shoved me back through the Veil if he hadn't grabbed my arm and pulled me away from it in time. You're the one everyone's been worried about."

Frowning, the werewolf brings his attention back to himself, focusing inward. He's not really that bad, is he? He doesn't _feel_ terribly bad. The less anvil-ish anvil is there but it's well within his ability to deal with. They're making too much of this, surely.

"I'm okay."

"Yes. Perfectly okay. And that's why you died."

Remus's eyes fly open, his head whipping to the side so quickly, his neck twinges. " _What_?"

"Yeah, that got your attention, didn't it?" Sirius's grin snaps across his face and then flees as he suddenly sobers. He sighs and drags his hand through his hair again, eyes pensive. Remus stares at him blankly.

Died? _Died_?

"You took that curse right to your heart, Moony. We don't even know what it was. It's bloody fucking lucky your ticker didn't give out right then; Merlin knows why it lasted until everyone got back to the school. Perhaps apparition was too much, despite the status charm. Poppy started working on you right away, but it was three minutes before she got you going again. And then you slept. For a long time."

 _Three minutes?_ "How long?"

"Four days," Sirius says. Remus gawks at him and his jaw only closes when Sirius pushes it shut with his index finger and a ghost of a smirk. Giving his head another shake, he leans back, crosses his legs at the ankles and rests intertwined fingers on his stomach. His eyes are much more serious than Remus likes. "Comatose, Poppy said. Hermione pitched a fit but there wasn't anything we could do. Had to wake up on your own, didn't you? It took a bit, but three days ago, you did."

Stunned, Remus doesn't know what to say. He's been hurt before; obviously he's been hurt before. That's natural though. This isn't.

This isn't.

"Where is everyone?" he asks in the end, a wave of exhaustion washing over him, the new knowledge floating through his head too disturbing and too frightening. Drawing the covers up, for once in his life he wills the exhaustion to win out. Perhaps if he sleeps, everything will be better when he wakes again.

His own soft, self-deprecating snort tramples all over that foolishly naive wish.

"All still here," Sirius answers with a yawn. He stretches back in his chair, giving himself a dog-like shake. "And likely to be congregating here any moment now, if my calculations are correct. Harry pulled the teenage tantrum card and refused to leave the school with everyone else, and since you're the reason the world now knows that dirty old no-nose is back, Dumbles let him stay. Good thing he did, too. Technically, the kid's mine. He's got no say over what Harry does and doesn't do."

" _I'm_ the reason?" Remus begins to ask, but before anyone can elaborate, Sirius's prediction proves true. The Hospital Wing's doors open and Harry, Ella and Hermione scramble through, the latter looking much worse for wear. Seeing the look on Remus's face, Sirius leans in.

"The woman needs sleep like nobody's business, but try telling her that," he mutters at Remus, rolling his eyes. "She's going to drop soon. Seems she was a tiny bit terrified you wouldn't wake at all. Put on a good show for Ella and Harry, but wouldn't have left your side if it wasn't for them." His grin is cheerful as Harry notices that Remus's eyes are open and lets out a happy shout of his name. "'Course, I knew for a fact you'd wake up. Too much of stubborn old man not to."

Remus's doesn't answer. Harry's at his side and smiling widely, and Ella's grinning and chattering away, and caught right at the edge of the curtains of his cubical, Hermione's standing with her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, eyes hooded and haunted and zeroed on him. He can't read much in her expression but he can see her tiredness. And the questions.

Always so many questions.

With the flood of visitors comes a boost of logically false energy, and the need to reassure everyone that he's fine, so he puts up with the way she silently studies him for the rest of the day. He watches her watching him as Poppy bustles in and after insisting he take no less than ten potions, pronounces him 'getting there', which is as close to on the mend as she's willing to state. He watches her watch him as Dumbledore visits and he learns that after saving Sirius's life and turning to see a seemingly lifeless Remus on the floor on the other side of the room, Harry had lost his temper and pelted after Dolohov, Bellatrix and the rest of the suddenly fleeing Death Eaters, the battle ending with him being possessed and Voldemort's reveal. And he watches her watch him as the sun gradually sinks and Sirius shoos Harry and Ella away to bed for the night, then retreats to his own bed, Remus hearing him quietly ask that a final-round-making Poppy cast a silencing charm on his curtains before she leaves. Whether that's for his own benefit or to give a mute Hermione, who very definitely hasn't left with the kids, and a steadily growing more apprehensive Remus privacy, the werewolf isn't sure.

Whatever the reason, they're alone with no interruptions imminent. Remus cocks his head and looks at her, sitting in the chair beside his bed. For the first time that day, her eyes aren't on him. And he waits.

He doesn't have to wait long.

"You saved my life."

It's spoken very softly, almost a whisper. Remus frowns.

"Yes. So? Did you think I would just let him attack you?"

Hermione does look up then, studying him again for a long moment. Finally, her mouth pulls and her gaze falls, and a nerve jumps just above the curve of her jaw as she picks at the blanket, busying her fingers. "You don't understand," she says, treating the bedding as if theirs is a three-person conversation and it's taking part. "You saved my life, Remus. You had your wand in hand and instead of using it to take Dolohov out, you threw yourself across the room, through uncountable enemy fire, and shoved me aside to take the curse meant for me yourself." Her head comes up and Remus's mouth goes dry. Her eyes stare holes in him. So fucking intense. She's looking for something. "You died, Remus. You _died._ Your heart stopped beating for three minutes. You did that for me. You put yourself through that _for me_. And while I'm eternally grateful, it's messing with my head."

Not knowing what to say, Remus doesn't say a thing. He wasn't expecting this conversation and he doesn't understand how she can possibly not know how he feels about her. Retreating, he stares at his hands and stays silent, only looking up when Hermione lets out a sound of frustration and shoves the chair back to rise to her feet.

"Nothing? Still goddamn _nothing_ , Remus? Do you _enjoy_ playing with me?!"

" _Playing_ with you?" Remus's head snaps up in shock and a surprising amount of anger. Hermione is standing at the end of the bed, her body vibrating with tension, and he doesn't know where the decision to lay all their painful history out and deal with it comes from. He's just sick of running. Sick of _her_ running. "I'm not _playing_ with you! What do you expect me to say, Hermione? Both times I've tried to open myself up to you, you've bolted like you've got the devil on your tail! Who the bloody hell is playing with _who_?"

Hermione's eyes narrow. Her fists are clenched. "Don't you dare bring that up! Neither of those times were my fault!"

"Then who's fault were they?! I'm not the one who saying things that don't make any sense! When exactly did I break your ruddy heart, Hermione? It doesn't seem like I've ever been close enough to it to inflict _any_ type of damage!"

His voice dies into astounded silence and he watches as the colour drains from Hermione's face. Panic sets in when she draws herself up straight, turns on her heel and makes for the door without a word.

"Wait! No, damn it, Hermione, wait!"

His covers are back and he's out of bed, and he manages four steps on cold stones before his legs give out on him. Hermione spins around at his pained gasp. She's at his side instantly.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you twit? You're not well enough to be out of bed yet!" she hisses, crouching down and wrapping her arm around his waist, a flick of her wand allowing her to escort his back to bed. Remus groans as he lies his head back on the magically puffy pillow, and it takes a moment for him to get his breath back.

Yes, the anvil's still there. Fucking curse.

"I'm sorry," he gasps when he can speak. Turning his head, he sees her hovering at the end of the bed, scowling at him. "I shouldn't have said that. It's just… please don't leave. I think… I think we really should talk. Properly. Please?"

She bites her lip and Remus holds back a groan of frustration. "Don't you want to clear the air? We've let it fester for years, we need get it out in the open. Please, Hermione. I need this. I think we both do, yeah?"

The sound of her chair scraping along the floor for the second time relaxes the tense muscles in his back. She curls up in it at the end of the bed and Remus's lungs hurts with the force of his relief. Years slide away in his memory; the bottomless cavern between them has reappeared, and it jolts him to realize that they'd never truly bridged it. But he can't wish her any closer.

What he can do is take the first step. Nerves twist in his stomach. Remus clears his throat.

"Can you… can you, ah, t-tell me when I, um, when I broke your heart? Don't shut down," he pleads quietly when her lips tighten and her brow furrows. Her hair is a riot, hiding most of her expression from him, but Remus knows her. "Please don't do that. I honestly… I don't have any memory of such a specific event happening. I truly don't. I can't begin to explain myself if I don't know the context, can I? I need you to tell me. I'm sorry if I'm hurting you but I need you to tell me. Please."

"My letters."

Two simple words have never been so baffling. "Your letters?" he repeats slowly. Hermione's breath catches and the crack of her eyes gives him whiplash.

"The ones I w-wrote you when y-you were f-first with the p-packs."

A cold slice of foreboding chills Remus's gut. "I-I… I'm sorry, love, I still need context," he says as gently as possible. The sound she makes cuts right into his heart and it's a long time before the words come.

"I told you then," she says finally, horrifically even. Her voice is muffled by her body, by the ball she's curled in. She speaks soft. Monotone. Remus wishes she would scream at him. "I told you in those letters. I poured my heart out to you in those letter and you never answered. I gave you my heart and you ignored it. You never answered and when you got back, you pretended it never happened, like my feelings meant nothing. Like I was nothing. You didn't even have the decency to let me down gently. You tore my heart to shreds."

The horror and distress make the words come out before he thinks. "I never read those letters. No, stop, please don't leave!" he cries, pushing himself towards her when she's on her feet in the blink of an eye, pasty-pale and trembling. "Let me explain! There's a reason! Please, Hermione, please hear me out."

Hermione's breath stutters when she jerks it in. "It better be a fucking good reason," she murmurs, taking her seat like an old woman. Remus nods, his heart in his throat.

It _is_ a fucking good reason. The thing is, he doesn't know if he can tell her. His mouth opens and then closes and the silence drags, and Hermione's face drops. Her eyes shut, the tips of her fingers press into them, and she rises for a third time, smears of thick, coating misery painted in the lines of her body.

He's losing her.

"I wasn't human while with the packs," Remus blurts, face flushing in disgust and shame, his heart slamming hard enough to make him dizzy. He wants to sink into the bed, to hide away and not face her. His shoulders hunch, self-loathing caving him in. He can't look at her. He can't see the revulsion in her eyes.

His own revulsion is enough to deal with.

"Excuse me?"

Remus's throat is dry. His voice is very small. "I w-wasn't human while there. Not… not really. Pack life is h-hard. Simple and animalistic most of the time, and it got worse around the full moon. They… they don't believe in denying who they are. _What_ they are. A lot of the time, the w-wolf would be wearing my skin and not the other way around, and the only time I had a respite from that was when I went to the fungi farm to send and receive letters. Wolves would disappear randomly every day, some coming back, some not, so no one ever questioned it. As long as I wasn't away for longer than a sun's cycle, I didn't lose my place in the hierarchy."

He pauses and tries to calm his racing heart by breathing before he can't think around the sound of it in his ears. Hermione's still and her silence is so fucking heavy. He's drowning it in.

He doesn't want to do this. God, he doesn't want to do this.

"I-I… it wasn't so bad before Lily and James's wedding. After, it was… I wasn't me. I couldn't find me. The wolf… it took over and Remus became the interloper. Your letters- Sirius's and James and Lily's letters, they got me confused. I- _sometimes_ I knew what they were. Who they were. I could read them and understand them, but that was something I could only do after your letters made me whole again."

Unable to not know what she was thinking any longer, Remus forces his eyes up. Hermione's standing at the end of his bed as if paralysed. Her face is a blank, white sheet. He can't for the life of him tell what she's feeling. Licking his lips, he continues in a voice that's gravelly.

"Hermione, your letters made me Remus again. Not because of what was in them. I was honest when I said I didn't read them. I didn't need to, and to tell the truth, I was more than a little afraid of their content anyway. I skimmed the first couple, but after that I just… this is going to sound horribly corny, but I let your scent work it's magic." A surge of warmth flushing his cheeks, Remus rubs his hand over his mouth and says the rest fast, the words tripping over themselves in an embarrassed rush, a confusing jumble of disgrace, humiliation and sheepishness prickling his skin. "Your scent anchored me, made me human. Pushed Moony down and made me think. L-let me know who I was. I didn't read your letters because I physically and mentally _couldn't,_ and then when I could, I didn't want to waste your life-giving scent by opening them."

The blanket covering him is such a faded green, it's practically grey. Remus runs his fingers along the threads, his stomach and his head and his chest hurting. The atmosphere is brittle; it aches to breath it in. But there's one more thing he has to say, because if he doesn't, he'll hate himself.

Her presence is so absurdly _there_. Mute. He's never _ever_ wanted words more.

"I'm so sorry for hurting you. So very, very sorry. I didn't know." It takes all his courage to look up and meet her splintered gaze and then even more to say what he does next. "I didn't know, Hermione. If I had've… things would've gone differently. Very differently."

The ever-constant tension, tar in his lungs, has little hope of dissolving until the little sound she makes shatters through the air like lightning.

"How differently?" she whispers. There's a lone tear running down her cheek. Remus swallows heavily and holds out his hand, and pleads with everything in him that she take it.

Please, please, just _take_ it.

It feels like his heart starts anew when she walks, very slowly, on unsteady legs around the bed to lace her fingers through his. Her hand is cool but is warmed by his touch, and the wariness and hope in her eyes sets his mind sprinting. He draws her closer and brings her knuckles to his lips, Hermione letting out another one of those bizarrely encouraging sounds when he brushes his mouth along her skin. Turning her hand over, he presses his lips to her palm.

"You're everything," he says, as soft as a caress. Hermione's breath hitches and her eyes fill, but her hair once again covering her face hides the tears falling. Remus hates the scent of salt. He kisses her palm again. "I think I started to realize that when I came home for the wedding. I started seeing it? Yeah. It was always there; I just hadn't seen it. And I didn't… you're not… Hermione, you weren't a convenience. You _aren't._ Lily and James's death… it was a knock over the head. I n-needed a knock over the head."

She's crying in earnest now. The quiet sounds snag at his gut and he can't help the way he tugs her hand, pulling her gently until she has to climb onto the bed. He shifts over and she lies down, and she cries with her face in his neck, her heart thumping against the side of his ribs. Remus holds her until she's eventually cries herself out and is just breathing against the hollow of his throat, and then he holds her more.

He needs to ask. Everything is so tentative. Fragile. But he needs to know.

"Why did you leave?"

His murmur has the body aligned with his tensing. He runs his fingers up and down her back, along the ridges of her spine. It feels like he's not the only one who's lost weight. The thought makes him frown, but only for a moment because Hermione's moving, shifting, her head settling on his chest. Her eyes are closed and Remus holds his breath.

"You told me to go," she mutters, hand balled above his heart, the knuckles he kissed pale and prominent. Remus's lips flatten and he shakes his head.

"You were already going. You were leaving before I got there. I kissed you and I thought… but you left." There's pressure in his head and the words come out by themselves. "You left me alone for twelve years."

Immediately, she's away from him. Curling up in much the same way she did in the chair, Hermione sits on the mattress with her legs drawn up, arms circling them. She's scowls at her hands for a lengthy pause and when she looks up again, her eyes spit at him.

"And you didn't do the same thing?" she demands, voice low. The tar-like tension swarms back, sharp, pointed claws sheathed. "You let me go, Remus!"

Remus frowns. "I couldn't have stop-"

"That's not the point!" she cuts in, edging towards shrill, although somehow she's still speaking softly. Unconsciously united in the thought that volume makes the subject far too tangible, they both keep their voices down. It's real enough as it is. "I left but you let me!" she continues, eyes narrowed. "I had to make a choice! I knew I couldn't stay away for long, Harry needed me, but I thought that after tempers had cooled, our history would be strong enough to overcome hacked-up feelings and heartache, even if it took a while to get back to us. But you never came. I left, Remus, yes, but why didn't you come find me?"

Remus's mouth opens, then shuts. "I-I didn't know where you were," he mutters. Hermione sighs and drops her gaze to her hands again.

"Dumbledore did. I made sure he did. There were ways. I expected you but you didn't come, and I c-couldn't… pride is a stupid thing. I'd already had my heart broken once. I'm sorry, I'm really bloody sorry I left, but I expected you to follow. You didn't."

Guilt has his brow furrowing. His fingers fidget.

His nails are dirty.

"That still doesn't explain why you left in the first place."

When he raises his head to look at her, he sees something he isn't at all expecting. His own guilt is reflected back at him in her rapidly refilling eyes, and something else too; something he's lived with his entire life. He'd never thought he'd see it in this strong, beautiful, confident woman's face. Never.

Apprehension is cold. Fear is colder.

"Hermione?" he whispers, only just stopping himself from reaching for her. She sniffs and wipes her eyes furiously, then shudders out a breath.

"This is fucking stupid," she mutters. "It shouldn't be this hard."

"You don't have to tell me, love."

Her shoulders square. "Yeah I do," she says, scowling at him. "It's not even that bad. It just… it feels massive to me. It was horrifically substantial at the time. Grief made it worse and I wasn't thinking straight. Sirius, he had… I th-thought he'd betrayed us and killed Peter and all those muggles. And I had…"

Her hand falls to her stomach and it clicks, ridiculously simple. Remus sucks in a breath through his nose and this time doesn't stop himself reaching. He takes the hand on her stomach and wraps his around it. Hermione jolts a little at the touch.

"Ella is nothing to be ashamed of," he says quietly. Hermione winces and looks away. The tears begin to fall, physical reminders of their worst memories.

Neither of their lives have ever been easy.

"I know that," she says to the mattress, voice wobbling. "I knew that then. I was never a-ashamed of her. Me, on the other hand… I felt d-dirty, Remus." She curls up tighter and for a moment, Remus thinks she's going to let go. His insides squeeze and then quickly unclench when instead, her grip tightens. "I'm s-sorry, god, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have l-left, but I c-can't help the way I felt when I found out the man I was p-pregnant to, a m-man I liked and respected, was the reason my friends were d-dead. That h-he may as well have k-killed them all himself. It was a p-punch in the gut because I t-trusted him so much more that I r-realized I should've when I should've trusted y-you, and I was even c-considering… I-I'm sorry. I'm so s-sorry."

Her breath catches and her fingers flex and Remus snatches up her wrist before she can pull away. He yanks and she tumbles towards him and his arms enfold her, cradling her into his side again. He doesn't admonish her, doesn't tell her there isn't anything to be sorry about. He's well acquainted with shame.

Instead, he kisses the top of her head and lets her breathe.

"And then," Hermione murmurs years-long seconds later, chin tucked and voice stuffy, "you come along with the worst t-timing in the world and k-kiss me when I was agonizing over protecting the life I'm carrying and d-drowning in guilt over believing you were the tr-traitor, and when I'd resigned myself to accepting that you didn't feel the s-same way I did. It fucked everything thing up more. I'm so, so sorry I left. But I c-couldn't get out of my head enough to stay."

Feeling a damp spot beginning to form on his tee, Remus stares up at the ceiling for a while. It's a lot to take in; his head is full. The warmth of her body against his brings comfort however, and when the thought comes about how well she fits, as it has a few times over the years, the corners of his mouth lift.

She fits.

 _They_ fit.

Isn't that all that matters?

Shifting his arm, he nudges at her and then guides her chin up until she's sniffing and shuddering and looking at him questionably. Her nose is red, her eyes puffy and drenched, and she's the most achingly perfect creature he's ever seen. Moving from her jaw, his fingertips glide up to flutter along spiky, wet lashes, then trail along and around and through until he's cupping the back of her head in a solid grip. Understanding dawns bright and Hermione's eyes flare. Her lips part.

He thinks has the right to this now.

Remus kisses her.


	14. Like His Journey

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** Canon Harry Potter and everything related to it doesn't belong to me.

 **A/N –** I put off reading Cursed Child to finish, edit and post this chapter. Leave me some love at the end for the great sacrifice I made? ;)

 _Remus kisses her._

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen: Like His Journey**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

He offers it to her in touch. Hand on the back of her head curling a little more possessively than he intends, he touches his mouth to hers and breathes in the air that escapes from just only parted lips. Her mouth is soft and warm and doesn't give under his; he doesn't want it to. He wants her, so much, but he wants her to want him back, so he doesn't take. He pauses.

He gives himself in the light press of a chaste kiss and begs in his mind that she return what he's offering.

His heart booms violently when she does. That sound emerges for the third time but it's outrageously different, a kind of gasping little keen, and then she's surging forward and her mouth is opening and _she's kissing him._ Her hands spring up to cup his jaw and her head tilts and the outside world vanishes, light and sound and touch and _knowledge_ narrowing to her and the feel of her body against his. Remus's gasp is almost soundless.

The rumble that comes from deep in his chest definitely isn't.

She's heat. She's fire, burning through him, marigold a drug that makes his head spin. Her tongue glides over his, a slow slide that's a foil to the eager little sounds he's drinking in, the scrape of her nails against the scruffiness at his jaw. She breaks away and comes back, and he can't think as they give and take, reaching, aching for more, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't need to.

All he needs is this woman, in his arms, kissing him like it'll save the very world.

He's breathing heavily when he drags himself from her and presses his lips to the dip in her chin, her cheek, then the richly scented skin just under her ear. She whimpers, and sighs, and shudders when he draws at her pulse point, leaving a mark, and the rumble's a purr in his chest. Her mouth soon pulls him back and he draws from there too, the hand not still buried in her hair clutching at her waist.

Her body-heat is an electric jolt when she shifts, wriggling in his lap, and her shirt edges up. The skin at her waist is soft and his thumb brushes along it. He groans into her mouth, and she trembles in response, and it's with great reluctance when he pulls back and drops his forehead onto her chest. Her hands find their way into his hair and he can feel her heart beating triple-time, her breathing fast. His head is foggy and he's half-hard, and he's pretty sure he'd be fully erect if it wasn't for the fact that his body has been through the mill and then some.

All from a kiss or two.

It's good. Fuck, it's good, but it's too much, and it's too soon. His chest hurts and he doesn't think it's only from kissing the woman of his dreams until he can't breathe. He drags in a breath through his nose and his lungs rattle and compress when he lets it out again. Hermione shivers when it blows across her throat.

"R-Remus?"

The huskiness in her voice goes straight through him and the low burn in his chest intensifies. He swallows. The anvil is taking on weight. But he doesn't want her away from him.

Her fingers scratch at his scalp, making his blood buzz, and Remus leans into the feeling with a sigh, wincing at the way he wheezes. Hermione's fingers stop moving.

"Are you in pain?" she demands in a far too high voice. She's moving before he can answer and Remus will die before he admits that he can breathe easier without her sitting in his lap. Except he's already done that. His brow furrows.

"Remus, answer me!"

As bossy as ever. The fogginess in his head isn't clearing and the exhaustion just seems to creep up on him. Swallowing again, he shakes his head and leans back, reaching for her in an absent but necessary gesture. He smiles when her hand wraps around his and he watches the worry in her face through half-lidded eyes.

"I'm tired," he mumbles, his eyes closing entirely. It's an effort to force them back open, but he does when he feels the bed shift and her hand start to leave his. "No, don't go. You're tired too. You… haven't been sleeping."

Hermione frowns and mutters "bloody Sirius," under her breath, and Remus smiles again. She sighs and then she's touching him, brushing the hair back off his forehead so gently, it has his heart picking up speed. "I am tired. So let's both sleep, eh? I'll see you in the morning."

"You'll see me even sooner if you sleep with me," Remus says, and then his eyes jerk open wide and his neck heats. A smile breaks across Hermione's face.

"Moving a little fast aren't we, Lupin?"

"No, I didn't mean it like-"

Her laughter cuts him off. "I know what you meant, Remus," she says, grinning at him. "I'm only teasing. Budge up, would you?"

It shocks him a little, how hard it is to move his body. But the thought of her pressed into his side is drive enough, and he manages to clear some space. He only meant on top of the covers with the spare blanket over her – her breath on his shoulder is all he needs – but she toes off her shoes and pulls his covers back, and then she's sliding in beside him. Her head finds his shoulder and her leg drapes over his, her arm doing the same across his chest.

He can feel all of her. Remus clears his throat, shifting a little. He's actually fucking thankful for the exhaustion at that moment, because if his body wasn't heavy and useless there's no way in hell he'd be able to sleep.

"All right?" Hermione whispers. Her hand moves, gliding down to his stomach and pushing up his shirt until she's touching his skin. Remus jumps, then swears he feels her smirking into his shoulder. His lips twitch.

That's his witch.

"Yeah," he says, the heat of her giving the exhaustion new life. "'sis perfect." Then, "Hermione?"

"Hmm?" she answers, voice slow with sleep.

"You mine now then?"

He feels her body tense and then relax, and then he feels her laugh against his side. Her head lifts and she's shifting and then there's the achingly light brush of her lips across his.

"Only if you're mine too, you sweet, foolish man."

 _Always have been,_ Remus thinks. Her body does that tensing thing again and then she's sliding back against his side and marigold surrounds him.

He sleeps.

~0~

"Well, bugger me days."

The exclamation winds its way through his brain, tugging at his consciousness and making his eyelid flutter. There's a mass of warmth curled into his chest that moves at the same time, the scent in every breath he takes. _Her_ scent. Remus's brain snaps awake and he looks down at the woman he's come to cradle during the night. Hermione's face is buried in his chest, the covers up to her chin. Both of her hands are all the way under his shirt, her palms to his chest over his heart.

It's as if, even in sleep, she needs to feel the evidence that he's alive and well. The corner of his mouth tugs up, and Remus lowers his head to rest it on the top of hers, turning to raise a brow at a widely grinning, still wheelchair-bound Sirius, who's taken up residence at the end of the bed.

"I really rather not have anything to do with your arse at all, Padfoot, thanks all the same," Remus says, then grins when Hermione snorts softly against him. She sighs and turns her head to peer out at Sirius as well. Her hands don't move.

"Can we help you with something, Sirius?" she asks. Remus's heart slams in his chest and his arms around her waist tighten. He doesn't think it's possible for his best mate's grin to get any bigger.

"So this is a thing now? You two have finally fucking stopped pussyfooting around and sorted your shit out?"

Remus hesitates. It's so new and he want so much to be certain, but he doesn't want to make assumptions. Hermione's fingers float along his skin. Her head turns up to Remus.

"We're together," she says, looking directly into his eyes. His chest expands and there's pressure in his head, and he kisses her because it's the only thing he can do. He cups her cheek and kisses her, and he feels…

New. He feels new.

"It's about bloody time! I thought I'd be grey before you two got your heads together!" Sirius says, but Remus isn't listening. He's kissing his Hermione and all seems right with the world. He almost doesn't hear Sirius clear his throat pointedly sometime later. "Guys? Not that I mind the snog-fest and all, but we'll have two very impressionable teenagers here shortly. Christ, listen to me trying to be the sensible one. Guys? Moony, for Merlin's sake, stop trying to eat her face off! It'll still be there later!"

Groaning, Remus pulls back. Impressionable teenagers? Ah. Well. Yes, better stop.

"You don't think Harry's interested in Ella, do you?" he asks breathlessly, running his hand up and down Hermione's back. His newly-minted girlfriend snorts again and shakes her head before reluctantly pulling away and climbing from the bed. Her clothes are rumbled and her hair is a tangled nest of a mess. Remus wets his lips and looks away.

"No. Believe me, Harry doesn't fancy Ella at all," Hermione says dryly. She drags her hands through her hair, grimacing when her fingers catch on snags, and throws Sirius a dirty look when he smirks at her. Remus carefully shifts over onto his back and wonders if it's possible for him to get up that day.

He grimaces when he realizes that it most likely isn't. The anvil is gnawing steadily at his breastbone. Fucking curse.

"The other way around then?" Remus suggests to distract himself, but the curtains are tugged back and Madam Pomfrey appears before anyone can answer. Her gaze is sharp, shrewd even, as it flicks over Hermione and then darts to the way Remus is still lying on one side of the small bed. Her eyes fly back to Hermione and narrow, and Remus has to hold back his smile at the way a flush climbs up Hermione's neck, more noticeable because her chin is raised defiantly. Poppy's lips purse as she takes in her defensive posture.

"How are we doing today, Mr Lupin?" she finally asks, turning away from Hermione – whose shoulders quickly drop in relief – towards her patient and placing the numerous potion phials she's holding on the bedside table. "I don't expect you're feeling any better with the full moon so close, but we can take care of any pain you might be in."

The chill that snaps through Remus's veins is horrifically icy.

"Excuse me?"

Poppy looks up from performing a wand diagnosis at his tone. "The full moon is in four nights' time, which is why I've upped your quota of potions, to give you some greatly needed strength and to combat any enhanced symptoms. Are you all right, Remus?"

Panic so volatile it feels like it's physically crawling along his skin, Remus gapes at the school's resident mediwitch. His jaw clicks shut when her expression grows concerned, then quickly falls open again in an automatic bid to drag in oxygen as he stares blindly at the ceiling, mind ablaze. Four nights? The full moon is in _four nights_? And he was supposed to go through it _like_ _this_?!

He's never, _never,_ not known when the moon's going to happen. The moon rules his life as much as the beast under his skin does, and the thought that he's lost track of time so completely, he doesn't know one end of its cycle from the other…

He can't breathe.

He doesn't even realize his hand is scrambling at the sheets until hers snatches it up. Leather, spice and coal dust waft from his right and Sirius's hand grasps his shoulder. The door opens at the other end of the room and Harry and Ella's quiet voices sound loud, their scents drifting over to him. Remus grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut.

For _fuck's_ sake.

"I'll be there. I'll be right there with you, Moony, I swear it."

"You're supposed to be recuperating," Remus hisses at the darkness behind his eyelids. "You can't be."

"I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to agree with Mr Lupin, Mr Black," Poppy says softly. "Magic is off limits for you at the moment, you know that."

"I'll be there, though," Hermione says from right next to him, tone fierce. "I'll be there and everything will be all right. You won't be alone." He senses movement and then comes the feeling of her lips on his forehead. "You won't ever be alone again. Not ever."

She repeats it until the children join them, and Remus lies there with his brain screaming as Ella and Harry chatter, asking how he is and how long he'll have to be in hospital. Both Sirius and Hermione stay at his side and Poppy finishes her exam and steps quietly back, as if she knows he can't do at the moment.

It's hard to be. It's so very hard to be, and it isn't until Ella blurts out, "Mum, is that a _hickey_ on you neck?" that he pulls himself together in a way that practically literal.

Remus spits out a loud burst of laughter, the sound nearly drowning out the way Hermione gasps and slaps a hand to her neck. "What? No!"

"Sure looks like one, love," Sirius comments entirely too casually, a smirk colouring his tone. Remus laughs again when Hermione shrilly states that it's just a bruise that she got running into a tree branch, and then rubs his hand over his face and exhales hard, his eyes blinking open. The vibrating in his head is still there but is slowly subsiding. He manages to offer Poppy a weak smile when she approaches him again, handing him his first potion. Once he's taken it and the rest, the repetitive movements of reaching for each potion and swallowing them down anchoring him in reality and fully clearing his head, she shoots Hermione a sharp, pointed look.

"I'll be back to check on you in a bit. You lot clear out soon please. _All_ of you. Remus needs his rest."

She pins Hermione with a look again, then turns and leaves, her robes whipping along behind her. "A tree branch? Weren't you just in a battle not long ago?" Ella asks once she's gone, head tilting guilelessly. The bark of Sirius's laughter fills the room. Hermione sighs.

"Enough, Ella. You and Harry need to head to breakfast now. Sirius, will you take them?"

Sirius grins. "Sure, could do with a bite to eat. Don't go running into any more tree branches while we're gone though, will you?" he says, wiggling his eyebrows, then chuckling and holding up his hands when Hermione glares at him. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, sweetheart. Come on, you two, let's get some grub. Perhaps we'll bring something back for you. Perhaps not."

He winks at Hermione, then pats Remus's shoulder before pushing the wheelchair back. Reaching out to his daughter, he tucks her hand into the crook of his arm and leads the two teenagers to the door. Remus hears Harry ask Sirius if he's missed something just before the door closes.

"We'll have to tell them at some point," he says once they're alone, turning his head slowly. Hermione smiles down at him, sheepishness haunting the edges.

"I know. I-I just… this is, um, really new, and I just wanted…"

Her face flushes and Remus is reaching for her and pulling her back onto the bed, his heart hammering. "I know how you feel," he murmurs as she settles into his side. It's a fantastic feeling, to have her there. He doesn't ever want her to move.

"Of course, we won't have us to ourselves for too long if you keep bloody putting _marks_ on my skin," Hermione mumbles into his chest. She looks up with a mock glare when he chuckles.

"I like it there. Looks good on you."

"It _looks_ like a bloody _hickey_ that my _just turned_ _fourteen-year-old_ _daughter_ teased me about. How am I supposed to keep her virginal into her 30's if I don't set a good example, huh?" She pokes him in the side to emphasize the point, then grins when another, louder laugh escapes him. "There we go. Doing okay now?"

Remus sighs and lifts their intertwined fingers, contemplating the way they fit for the thousandth time. "Yeah. Sorry, I've just… it's never snuck up on me that way before, you know?"

Hermione nods. "I can understand that. But you won't be alone." Her eyes are soft when her hand touches his cheek. "I meant what I said, Remus. Never again."

 _We'll see,_ Remus thinks. Then, feeling guilty and traitorous and for even entertaining the thought, he draws her closer and wraps his arms around her. They talk about mundane things for a while, Hermione seemingly content to lie there and draw patterns on his t-shirt with her fingernail.

Eventually, his brain won't let him not know.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Rolling onto her stomach and resting her chin on her clasped hands, Hermione observes him over them, frowning a little at his hesitant tone. "Sure."

"Why weren't you with me from the time I started teaching? During the moons?"

Hermione's eyes go wide. Remus worries his bottom lip as he studies her expression. The guilt from the night before floods back into her eyes, and he brushes her hair back, smoothing his hand down her back when she groans and presses her face into his chest.

"Because I'm a fucking idiot, that's why," she mutters after a few minutes. When Remus doesn't say anything, just continues to stroke his palm up and down her back, she huffs softly and lifts her head.

"I listened to Dumbledore when I shouldn't have," she continues miserably. "He said he thought it was a good idea that you learnt to manage the moons and the wolfbaned wolf yourself, without any help. It was a stupid, _stupid_ thing to do, stupid thing to _agree_ to, and I _swear_ I didn't at first. I argued, Remus. But he was so logical, so bloody _convincing_ , and we weren't… we were off, which isn't an excuse at all. I'm sorry, Remus. I'm so sorry."

He jolts anxiously at her explanation and it takes a moment to pin down why. With both his mind and his heart racing, Remus sinks back into the pillow and tries to sort out the dips and spins, the pattern of his thoughts gradually collating into a single, shining conclusion. His gut churns, panic once again trying to tighten his throat.

He doesn't want that. He doesn't want that. He _doesn't want that._

 _Fuck_ Dumbledore.

"-was always there anyway, you have to know that. I was outside the window so you weren't really alone. Remus?"

He can't think about it now. He _can't._ Remus clears his throat. "You were there," he rasps, his hand beginning to move along her back again. He hears her sniff and leans down and presses a kiss to the top of her head. Hermione sighs and burrows closer, her breath a puff of warmth the penetrates the material of his shirt.

"Yeah, in the trees. And I'll be with you every step of the way now, I promise."

"I know you will," he says. Running from his conclusions, his eyes drift close, and she shifts against him, his lids lifting when he feels her hand on his cheek. Hermione's frowning. Remus takes a breath, meets her eyes, and her frown grows more pronounced. Her fingers trail up to gently rub at the lines that bridge the top of his nose.

"What's wrong?" she asks softly, and for a moment, Remus considers telling her the truth. He considers telling her what he's just realized, laying it all out bare and letting her help him deal with it. But this has always been his; his life, his curse, his _job._ He needs to figure out what he's going to do. And he needs to do it on his own.

Smiling up at her, he shakes his head. "Nothing," he replies, his eyes closing again, pretend fatigue suddenly becoming factual. "I think I just need to sleep."

There's a lengthy silence and then, spoken quietly: "Do you want me to go?"

 _No,_ he thinks, then says, "only if you want to."

"I _don't_ want to," she mutters, sitting up. "Poppy can go jump in the lake. But there's something I've been working on that I can't leave too much longer. You sleep. I'll go get it, see to the kids and be back before you wake up."

Remus smiles. _Christ, this woman's a marvel._ "Yes, ma'am," he murmurs, then yelps softly in surprise when his nose is brutally flicked, his eyes opening just enough to see her standing over him with her hands on her hips, lips twitching. Hermione laughs when she catches his indignant expression.

"Go to sleep," she orders, grinning at him. Then, darting in, she kisses him firmly on the mouth, hops around while trying to put her shoes on, then hurries from the cubical and out of the room. Remus sighs and gives in to the exhaustion, and when he wakes again, she's right there, sitting scrunched up in a chair and scribbling something on an important looking piece of parchment.

Remus touches her knee. She smiles at him. And when the moon comes days later and he endlessly cleaved into broken, bloodless fragments, the pain so much worse than any month before, he painstakingly peels his eyes open once he's Moony, and just looks at the little owl making anxious sounds of inquiry into his ear. Her feathers are ruffled, her eyes massive spheres. Her body is shaking so much, she looks like she's going to shake to pieces.

Remus thinks that if it were possible for owls to weep, his brilliant witch would be drenching his coat.


	15. Like His Venture

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** I do not, nor will I ever, own the Harry Potter series, movie franchise, or anything related.

 **A/N –** Success! I have triumphed! This chapter has been taunting me for weeks, but I have conquered, and here it is for you lovely readers to enjoy! Also, I don't say this nearly enough, but a massive thank you all for the support this story has and is receiving. Your reviews and comments truly make my day! :)

 _Remus thinks that if it were possible for owls to weep, his brilliant witch would be drenching his coat._

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen: Like His Venture**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

Her hand is in his as Sirius shouts at Dumbledore. It's the night before the students return home for the summer, and at any other time he would've been trying to curb Sirius; to calm him down and make him think. But now he sits in his hospital bed and doesn't say a thing when his best mate calls the greatest of the wizarding world a batty, manipulative old bastard. Hermione's lips are folded in, frustration and aggravation creasing the corners of her eyes. Her hand is clutching his tight, her nails digging sharp points into his skin.

Dumbledore's serene expression is a disquieting contrast.

"He must go back, Mr Black," he says calmly, standing tall and straight in the middle of the room. An island in very rough seas. "The blood wards are the best protection he has."

"Better than a fucking _fidelius_?" Sirius snaps, looking like he desperately wants to pace back and forth, but unable to do more than spear a trembling hand through his hair. Having only been allowed out of his wheelchair for a couple of days – Poppy telling him that he was okay to use magic again the day after the full moon had _not_ put the animagus in a good mood – Sirius still has trouble staying on his feet. Even now; even throwing off aggro like he's discovered it's a new energy source, he still leans back against the end of the bed in what Remus is sure he thinks is an unobtrusive manner.

It isn't.

"In this case, yes," Dumbledore answers, his hands folded in the opposite sleeves of this deep purple robes, blue eyes fixed on Sirius. He doesn't even glance at Remus and Hermione. It's as if they aren't there. "There is no secret keeper involved in blood wards, so there is no chance of betrayal. Harry will go back to the Dursleys because it is the safest place for him."

" _Safe_?!" Sirius chokes on the word, and in Remus's, Hermione's hand spasms. His eyes move to her face and a nerve jumps in his jaw at the expression he sees in her eyes. Lifting her hand, he presses his lips to her knuckles, and her breath bursts from her at the touch, her eyes flying to his for the briefest of moments. She swallows heavily and raises her chin, eyes wide, and just like that, Remus's heart _pounds._

He'd known. He'd known since that morning in her room at the Three Broomsticks when she'd said as much without actually saying. His chest tightens, panic inching its way across his skin, and Hermione returns his gesture and tries to smile before turning back to Sirius and Dumbledore. Sirius is still talking, arguing fiercely, a fine tremble in his voice.

Remus stops listening.

He just can't seem to escape the guilt. Of any type. His entire world is a series of things to feel guilty about and this is the icing. This tears him to pieces more than transforming into a werewolf ever could. Remus closes his eyes, squeezes them shut tight, and lets the feeling, the _knowledge_ , that he left Harry James Potter alone in an abusive home for twelve years seep through him.

 _He_ did.

James and Lily's son.

Why?

Because he's scared.

It's what it comes down to. He's petrified. He's been petrified much of his life. Petrified of his curse; petrified of bringing it down onto the people he ends up loving. Petrified of _living_. He's been running for many years, fleeing from something that can't be outstripped, and because of that, because of his insecurities, his self-loathing and self-pity, Harry has suffered.

He has a lot more atoning to do than he'd realised, doesn't he?

" _He's my godson_!"

A palm smooths up his arm and Remus's eyes open. Sirius's face is twisted with fury, Dumbledore's a calm lake, and Sirius's roar rings through his head, the words slotting in with new, very significant meaning that hits Remus in the face like a block of wood. He's always thought of Harry as not his. Harry is Sirius's. Remus has never had that official connection to the boy, something he's, perhaps more unconsciously than not, used as a reason to stay away.

As a shield.

But Harry _is_ his. He always has been, official connection or no official connection. He loved the lad – he _loves_ the lad. With everything he has. He's his family.

You protect what's yours.

"Sirius can go with him."

His sudden statement brings Sirius's ranting to a dead stop, the silence that follows dropping like a bomb. Both Sirius and Dumbledore turn to look at him, and for the first time there's more than just a touch of patronization behind a solid wall of Dumbledore's decision on the headmaster's face. Remus hides his slight smirk and meets the old man's eyes.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Lupin?"

"Sirius will go with him," he repeats, deliberately adding the change of wording in because this _is_ going to happen. They can't stop Harry going back altogether. Dumbledore has too much power, too much _right_ , to do with Harry what he wills. He's been doing it all the boy's life. But they can dictate terms and conditions and make sure they stick. _They_ have that right. "He won't be going back to that house alone."

After a long moment of thoughtful contemplation, Dumbledore sighs and shakes his head. "I'm afraid that isn't possible. Mr Black is still a convicted criminal on the run-"

"Who's also an animagus going into the heart of muggle suburbia," Remus interrupts, his voice just as calm as Dumbledore's. Falling back on years of talking James and Sirius out of trouble, he throws the covers back and very carefully eases himself from the bed, pausing for far longer than he should once he's on his feet and then taking three steps around the bed until he's at Sirius's side. He can feel Hermione's silent protest behind him, the witch hovering anxiously, her fingers just brushing the heel of his palm. She doesn't do more than that, however, and Remus's spine straightens.

Sirius grins at him. Remus ignores the look on his face and turns to Dumbledore again. The old headmaster's eyes are narrowed a minuscule amount, and Remus once again has to hide his smirk.

He's a bloody Marauder, isn't he?

"Most muggle children have a pet nowadays," he says, looking the headmaster in the eye. "As do wizarding children actually. We know that the Dursleys aren't, er, the most _well-meaning_ family in the world. Harry doesn't talk about them much, but it does make what he has said about his family all the more important, don't you agree, Albus?"

The only shift in Dumbledore's expression at the question is in those narrowed eyes. Something flickers through them, and Remus knows right then what path to take. He pushes himself up straighter and goes in for the kill.

"Harry needs all the love and support he can get, and unfortunately that isn't something his family willingly provides. Sirius understands that. Sirius loves him; he's the closest to a father Harry is ever going to have. If Harry must go back there, let Sirius go with him. Harry can't be touched within the blood wards at the moment. Sirius will be safe there too, from anyone and everyone who's looking for him."

There's silence from the Order's leader. Remus draws in a breath and takes a step forward, locking his knees so that his legs don't shake. "Let Harry be happy, Albus. Stop thinking of the greater good for at least a little while, and start thinking of the fact that Harry's only fifteen. He's _fifteen,_ Headmaster. He's just a boy. A baby."

The flickering in Dumbledore's eyes grows, and then, after what seems an insurmountable amount of time, he inclines his head. "Mr Black, I trust you are in agreement with this?" he asks, turning to Sirius. Remus has to physically hold back his sigh of relief.

"Fuck yes, I am," Sirius says cheerfully. "Anything for my kid, you know that."

"Then have it your way. Harry will not have to be there long. Perhaps he can go to the Weasleys for part of the summer."

Remus and Sirius exchange a look. "Perhaps," Sirius says with a slight incline of his own head. Dumbledore's gaze moves between the two men and then he turns to Hermione.

"Miss Granger. I do hope Miss Elizabeth has an enjoyable and trouble-free summer."

"We'll do our best to make that happen, Headmaster," Hermione says. Dumbledore smiles at her, nods at the other two, then calmly makes his exit, his robes swishing almost silently across the stone floor. No one speaks until the Hospital Wing's doors have closed behind him.

The proverbial cork all but explodes from the bottle.

Remus lets out a choked gasp when he suddenly finds himself tackled around the middle by an extremely enthusiastic Sirius Black. Falling back on the bed, a chuckle escapes him, his hand patting Sirius's back as his best mate wiggles with excitement on top of him.

"That was fucking brilliant, Moony! Fucking _brilliant_! I could kiss you!" Sirius crows into Remus's stomach. Remus's laughter peters into a groan when his arms tighten, his hands now shoving at Sirius's shoulders.

"You'll be kissing a bloke with broken ribs if you squeeze me much tighter," he wheezes, unable to help his silly grin – a grin that only widens when a long waterfall of hair brushes his nose and a face appears above him. "Hello, you."

"Hi," Hermione replies, eyes dancing. "You giving away what's rightfully mine then, are you?"

Prying his arm out from Sirius's hug, Remus reaches up and cups her jaw. "Never."

Hermione's smile is blinding. Her head lowers and her lips press against his, and _now_ Remus feels brilliant. _Now_ he feels like he's done something right. His lips part in tentative offering, and she sighs and presses closer, mouth opening wide and tongue meeting his, and he can't get enough. It's a need, this is. He won't ever get enough.

"You two really are fantastically hot, you know that?"

Hermione's startled burst of laughter reverberates against Remus's mouth. She pulls back just enough to kiss him lightly a final time, then turns and whacks a blatantly gawking Sirius over the head.

"You're such a pervert, Black," she grins, shaking her head. Sirius smirks at her and wiggles his eyebrows, and she laughs again before folding her arms and pinning him with a pointed look. "Kindly want to let go of _my_ bloke, if you will? I do like it when he's able to breathe."

Remus isn't sure if his heart is pounding from kissing her or from her words. Most likely both. A happy bubble of sound floods his throat, escaping in a contented hum that sounds astonishingly like a purr – something that obviously translates to the other two as well, because Hermione's head snaps towards him and Sirius's eyes widen. The loud bark of his laughter has heat running up Remus's neck.

"Moony's got it bad, doesn't he?" he teases, grinning as he pushes himself off Remus and gets to his feet. Remus scowls in embarrassment and sits up.

"Fuck you, Padfoot."

"Oh no, fuck _you,_ and I've said it before, Moony, that ain't me. I think Hermione the one who wants to do that." Sirius smirks, and when the colour spreads to Remus's cheeks, the smirk broadens so much his eyes practically glow. "Seems she's not the only one, yeah?"

"Okay, enough, let's talk about this plan of Remus's," Hermione cuts in, her own cheeks looking decidedly hot. Remus swallows hard and shoves away the images playing in his head that Sirius's teasing has only encouraged. Not thinking about _that_ now.

 _Certainly_ not.

"Yeah, Padfoot going with Harry is an excellent idea," Sirius agrees, accepting the change of subject with no more than a twitch of his lips. He rounds the bed and sits on the end, swaying just a little. Remus runs his eyes over him and frowns.

"Are you going to be okay transforming into Padfoot?" he asks, eyes lingering on how pale his best mate looks. "I know you're allowed to use your magic now, but the transformation takes a lot of energy."

Sirius scoffs and waves his hand in dismissal. "I'll be fine," he says, which is exactly what Remus expects him to say. "What's really important is how are we going to get the muggles to accept Harry having a dog."

He raises his brows at Remus, looking intrigued when he sees the smirk Remus no longer has to hide.

"They won't really have to because you won't be there for more than a day or two. Up for a spot of kidnapping, Padfoot?"

Sirius's slow smirk is identical to Remus's, and next to him, Remus hears Hermione groan.

~0~

A week later sees Remus walking down a sleepily silent Privet Drive, gradually making his way towards house number four. It's the middle of the night, a fact Remus is grateful for, and not only because there aren't any people around as a result. He's only been out of bed for five days, and was only discharged from the infirmary – by his own insistence – that very morning. It's still difficult to walk, but walk he must. With the Trace still on Harry, they cannot risk using too much magic.

Harry has only been at the Dursleys for a few days, but even a few days is much too long. Unfortunately, with the swift planning they'd had to do, they hadn't been able to get the ball rolling any sooner. Remus has had to rely on Hermione a lot to make sure everything is in place, and he can't help the anxiety he feels. Both mentally and physically.

The anvil is still weighing him down. Pressing his hand to his chest as he steadily puts one foot in front of the other, it feels like it always will. There's a heaviness surrounding his lungs, a bulky black mass colouring his every intact of air, but Remus grits his teeth and pushes on. Still, getting to the Dursleys' door takes much longer than he likes.

His wand in hand just in case, he fishes through one of his trouser pockets and pulls out an old and rarely used muggle device that has memories cascading through his head. He's out of practice, but that doesn't stop the door unlocking with a quiet 'snick' and swinging soundlessly open a few minutes later. Again, it's habit to tread feather-light through the dark house, the only sound coming from the ticking grandfather clock in the parlour and the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The air reeks of a horribly choking, fake flowery scent, and Remus wrinkles his nose.

Padding about the house is an experience Remus doesn't enjoy. There are photo frames all over the walls, a fat blond boy dominating most of them, his parents a close second. Harry isn't in a single one. In fact, there's no indication that two teenage boys live in the house anywhere. Even the kitchen table is only set for three, and anger stirs in Remus's breast at the signs of blatant neglect. Drawing in a deep breath through his nose and then throwing his hand over his mouth to stifle his coughing, he climbs the stairs, once more gritting his teeth when he has to pause halfway up. Stupid fucking anvil. But catching the scent of earth, and spice, leather and coal dust just beginning to wind its way through the unnatural, heavyset floral gets him moving again, and he follows the scents to a closed door, doing his best to ignore the chainsaw-like snoring coming from a door further down the hall.

A growl from the other side of Harry's door has his hand halting in the process of turning the doorknob.

"It's me," he murmurs, and the growling stops. The doorway is still filled with large black dog when he opens the door, however, Padfoot watching his every move. He nods in approval at his old friend.

"Professor?"

"Ask me a question, Harry," Remus says softly, glancing at the dark shape sitting up in the bed. He hears Harry's breath catch, then shudder out of him. The blankets rustle.

"If Remus Lupin could choose the form his Patronus takes, what form would it that be?"

Remus smiles. "Trick question. Well done, lad. It would be anything but what it is," he says, the memory of the conversation lightening the pressure in his chest for a brief moment. There hadn't been many candid moments with Harry when Remus had been teaching the DA, but he treasures the ones they had had. At his side, Padfoot relaxes.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asks, getting out of bed and rubbing his eyes. Pressing his finger against his lips in a silencing gesture, Remus walks over to pick up Harry's glasses and hands them to him.

"Breaking you out of here, of course," he whispers, grinning when Harry's eyes go wide. "Quickly now, get yourself dressed. Hermione's meeting us on Wisteria Walk. Where's your trunk?"

"Um, under the bed," Harry answers in a stage whisper, scurrying towards his clothes. With a soft wuff, Padfoot heads towards his bed and pulls Harry's trunk out with his teeth. All three freeze at the loud scraping sound the trunk makes, but the snoring - loud enough to be heard through walls - doesn't stop. Harry sighs in relief and flings his pyjamas off, chucking them into his trunk after his godfather has nosed it open. "Are you here instead of Dumbledore, then?"

Breaking off his hurried search for all of Harry's things, Remus rounds on Harry with a frown. "Instead of Dumbledore? What do you mean?" he asks the boy, only starting his packing again when Padfoot nudges the back of his knee. Harry stands up from tying his shoelaces and shoves his glasses up his nose before picking up a piece of parchment that's lying on the floor next to his bed.

"Dumbledore sent me a letter," he says, handing the parchment to Remus, who quickly looks it over. Reading it has his mouth setting in a grim line. He closes Harry's now packed trunk with renewed vigour.

"No, I'm not here for Dumbledore. Don't worry about it, son," he says when Harry frowns. Padfoot whines a little, then huffs and trots to the door, looking back over his shoulder expectantly. "Let's just go, all right? I'll explain on the way."

Although he's still frowning, Harry nods and watches Remus risk using the tiniest bit of magic to make the trunk float to the ground when he shoves it out the window, then follows Padfoot and Remus out of the room, turning in the direction of the stairs. The young wizard is halfway down before he seems to realise that the two men aren't with him. Remus senses him turn back more than sees him, because his attention is on Padfoot.

Padfoot, who has his teeth bared. Padfoot, who's growling so low, Remus doubts Harry can hear it. Padfoot, who is now standing outside the door the loud, eardrum-shaking snores are originating from.

Remus opens his mouth to call him back. And the words don't come.

The anger is as much as beast in his chest as the wolf is. It opened its eyes downstairs, and now it curls its lip, making his blood hot. Making his blood _sing._ Padfoot looks around and approval shines in his eyes, his jaws imitating the feeling under Remus's breastbone.

The snoring breaks and then starts again, louder than before. The beast rumbles and the noise pours from Remus's throat, drowning out the boar-like noises.

 _These muggles hurt his cub._

"R-Remus?"

Earth winds its way through his brain with the wobbly word, and Remus's gaze snaps towards Harry. A wave of cold washes through him, sluicing away the skin-prickling rage when he sees Harry's eyes saucer, the boy taking an instinctive step back and banging into the railing. Remus blinks a couple of times and shakes his head, more than a little horrified when he turns to see the door half-open, by his own hand.

Sweet Merlin. What had he been about to do?

"P-Padfoot? Um, we should g-go."

Remus clears his throat and turns towards the stairs. "Yes," he says roughly, "we should. My apologies, Harry. We shouldn't ha-have… erm… just let's just go, yeah?"

Harry nods rapidly and is down the stairs before Remus can even think of warning him about being quiet. He sighs and goes to follow, stopping again when the sound of Padfoot's claws scratching along the carpet doesn't trail behind him. A quick look shows the dog still in a defensive stance at the door, sharp teeth on display, that low rumble still vibrating along Remus's spine. All four limbs are trembling.

Remus swallows. "Padfoot," he sighs tiredly. When the dog's head doesn't move an inch, Remus scrubs his face hard, heads towards him and crouches down.

"Padfoot," he tries again, more quietly this time. The trembles hitch and jump along the dog's ribcage, chasing the path of Remus's gently grazing fingertips. Padfoot shifts on the spot and Remus presses his hand firmly to the dog's thundering heart. "I know how you're feeling, mate. But now isn't the time. Harry needs you."

Dilated eyes wheel towards him, but Padfoot's stance doesn't shift. Remus leans forward and lays his forehead against the dog's side, breathing in spice, leather and coal dust, fingers of both hands now buried in his coat.

"You'll get your chance. I promise you will. But now we need to go, to get Harry to safety. The muggles will keep. I promise I'll help you rip their lives to shreds, but not now. Not here, with Harry downstairs. Don't do this to him, Sirius. Pull it back. He's your family. Don't hurt your family."

The grandfather clock ticks loudly. Padfoot shakes. Then, with another whine that cracks like a whip through his body, he very slowly moves, stepping back, and then back again. Remus doesn't say a word when the dog buts his chin with his nose and he finds himself looks into sane canine eyes again. All he does is get to his feet and keep at Padfoot's heels as the dog walks, a little unsteadily, down the stairs.

His head turns when the door right next to Harry's opens suddenly and the face of the blond boy in the photos pokes out. Panic rattles through his lungs, his hand gripping his wand tight, but shockingly, all the boy does is stare for a lengthy moment and then pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and wordlessly retreats back into his bedroom. Heart sprinting, Remus rubs his hand over his mouth and continues down the stairs where Harry and Padfoot are waiting for him.

"Ready to go?" he asks Harry. The young wizard nods and they're soon out in the night air, Remus relocking the door behind them. A quick dart around the side of the house to retrieve Harry's trunk and they leave number four Privet Drive behind.

Hopefully for good.

They've crossed onto Wisteria Walk, a dark blue car almost lost in the darkness of the overcast night their destination, when the need for reassurance gets the better of Remus.

"All right, Harry?"

The boy's eyes dart to him. "Yeah," he replies quietly, clambering into the car behind Padfoot, his voice even softer from the back when he returns a dog-draped Ella's laughter-filled greeting and answers her similar question. "Yeah, I'm fine."

The concerned look Remus shares with Hermione as she pulls the car onto the road and they head out of Little Whinging says that they both don't believe him.


	16. Like His Incentive

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** I have no ownership of the Harry Potter franchise.

 **A/N –** Hello, lovely readers! We're moving quite a bit more away from canon with this chapter, so I do hope you enjoy. Big things coming! Big things indeed!

 _The concerned look Remus shares with Hermione as she pulls the car onto the road and they head out of Little Whinging says that they both don't believe him._

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen: Like His Incentive**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

She's silent next to him for most of the two-hour drive to Dorset county. Ella is happy ball of giggles in the back, talking to Padfoot a mile a minute, but Harry only speaks when he's spoken to, and Remus knows that Hermione is worried. Her eyes flick to the rear-view mirror constantly, her hands tight on the steering wheel. If he's honest with himself, he's more than a little worried too, and he wonders if they're thinking the same thing.

Had they made a mistake by taking Harry?

No. Remus presses his lips together, jaw tense as he leans the side of his head against the night-cooled window. The boy has lived in an abusive home for most of his life and it was _not_ going to continue. Fuck the blood wards. Harry needs to be protected by actual living people, people who cared about him. People who _loved_ him.

Harry Potter is more than a weapon in this senseless, unending blood-feud. Dumbledore's opinion isn't gospel, nor is it law. Three war-trained adults could easily protect two children.

And they will protect them. With everything they have.

The thought bounces around his head much like them bouncing along the road, and it's still jangling for attention when they drive through the tiny village of Ibberton and approach an old stone house on the opposite side. Ella's chatter quietens the instant the car begins to slow, and even Harry looks interested, sitting forward and peering out the window. Remus's stomach is a twisting mass of nerves and regret as he gets out of the car, memories lending the mass weight until it's giving off very anvil-like vibes. He presses the palm of his hand to his midriff and swallows hard, eyes on the headlight-lit house.

He hasn't been to this house since the beginning of the first war.

"Where are we?"

"Here," Hermione says quietly, walking over to stand beside Harry and handing him a crumpled piece of paper. "Read this."

Harry frowns and throws a questioning glance at a smiling Ella, then takes the paper. When he looks up from reading it, his eyes go wide.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, bewildered, before letting out a yelp and flushing in embarrassment when Hermione flicks his ear rather hard with her finger. "Er, sorry. But where the he- _heck_ did that house come from?"

"It's under a fidelius charm," Remus says, voice low. "It's been here all along, but you know about it now, so you can see it. Come on, let's go inside."

"Who's house is it?" Harry asks, trotting to keep up with Remus. Hermione, Padfoot and Ella, carrying a familiar orange cat, trail behind them. Remus darts a look back over his shoulder for just a second and meets steady brown eyes, his witch backlit by the headlights as she follows them towards the house. He breathes in deeply and pulls a key from his pocket.

"It's my parents' house," he says, the key slipping easily into the lock and the door swinging open on silent hinges. He steps over the threshold and stops. "Mine now, I guess. It's the house we were living in when I got accepted into Hogwarts."

"Oh."

It's all Harry says and Ella scampers past Remus and into the house, the young witch letting the cat jump from her arms and then grabbing Harry's hand to drag him along behind her. Remus stares into the dark house, a warm body pausing very briefly and pressing into his calf as it brushes by him, following the two teenagers up the stair. He blinks when the entranceway is suddenly flooded with light.

Her hand makes a slow swipe down his back.

"I'll get the kids settled," Hermione murmurs, lips pressing warm against his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Remus's smile only lifts up his mouth at the corner. "I'm fine," he says, turning to look at her and shaking his head at the dubious expression in her eyes. "I am. You go. Get the best room before Sirius claims it. Kick him out if he already has."

She searches his eyes before she moves, her hesitance just as strong as her scent, but he's soon in the entranceway on his own. Rubbing a hand over his mouth, Remus focuses on the sounds of Ella's excited chatter from the floor above and takes careful steps further into the house.

He has mixed feelings about being back here. His parents had died, one after the other, during the lost years before Dumbledore had drawn him back into the fold, and due to a glitch in the system, Remus hadn't been aware that they'd passed the house – their last home – onto him until he'd left his professorship at Hogwarts behind. His parents hadn't moved since he'd gone off the school, no longer having the need to. They no longer had to hide, to flee when he'd been found out, and whenever Remus had come home…

It hadn't really been his home he'd come back to.

He sighs as he makes his way from room to room, switching on lights. He'd loved his parents with every fibre of his being. Hope and Lyall Lupin had done the very best they could, and the very best had been brilliant. They'd seen the beast but hadn't let it define their view of their son, and because of that he had many, many happy memories from his childhood. But he'd seen something else the first time he'd come back to this house during Christmas break his first year. Something that'd disappeared the moment he'd walked in the door.

He'd seen freedom.

They loved him. He would never deny that. But they'd had _life_ within this house; free will, choice, _home._

It was a life he'd never been a part of.

A strange mixture of approval and melancholy trails him as he heads to the kitchen. It's the middle of the night, just coming up on three in the morning, and he's in desperate need of a cup of tea. The kids need to get to bed and he needs to talk to Sirius, to find out what exactly had set him off at the Dursleys.

Remus figures that tea won't be at _all_ strong enough for _that_ particular conversation. But it's all they have, at least until a broader range of supplies is purchased. Hermione had picked up the basics but firewhiskey hadn't been on the shopping list.

There will be need to stock it in the future, he's sure.

He's just pouring water into the cups when Hermione walks in. Remus's eyes run over her, noting the signs of fatigue. Her skin is paler that usual, and he's lifting her chin and pressing his lips to her pale cheek, breathing in her sigh when she sags against his chest.

"Harry thinks Sirius is stuck."

Remus frowns at the muffled comment. "Really?"

"Yeah. He went to check on Ella and Harry told me that he hasn't transformed at all, not even when everyone in the household was dead to the world. It makes sense; transforming into Padfoot really took it out of him in the first place." Her breath warms his chest and then she's pulling back and looking at him. "Speaking of which, you should be off your feet, too."

"I'm fine," Remus protests. His mouth closes hurriedly when Hermione's hands find her hips.

"You've both literally just gotten out of the hospital, for Merlin's sake. Sit! Drink your tea. It'll do you the world of good."

"Yes, ma'am." She squeaks when he grabs her by the waist and turns her so that he's able to plonk her down into his lap when he takes a seat. Her surprised laughter makes him smile, dark eyes merrily indulgent within a look she shoots back over her shoulder.

"Because this isn't putting pressure on your chest at all," she says dryly. Remus grins at her and shrugs, wrapping his arms around her to stop her from moving. Curse wound be damned. He feels better already. His grin widens when she reaches over and picks up both his tea and hers but doesn't attempt to pull away from him.

"Drink."

"Drinking," Remus says. He's halfway through the lukewarm cup before he speaks again. "They used to get stuck all the time when they first transformed, James and Sirius did. Peter, surprisingly, not so much. They'd spent full weekends as their animals before they managed to transform back, sometimes longer. It just meant they needed to quit practising for a bit and rest. So it could be a good thing if he _is_ stuck. At least as Padfoot, he'll rest and recuperate properly."

A smile flirts with his lips again when he hears her mutter, "pot, kettle," and then she sighs and settles further into his lap. There's silence for a bit, her body warm against his, before she asks quietly, "do you know what's wrong with Harry?"

Remus winces. "There was… an incident."

She turns on his lap and Remus's head tips back. Her eyelashes look too delicate to be real. "What incident?"

"It doesn't matter- it really doesn't," he says calmly when her brow furrows. "Nothing happened and he's here now. But I think it may have startled him. I'll get it sorted."

Much like she did earlier in the doorway, his witch searches his eyes again. Remus's stomach unclenches when she nods slowly and turns back around to lean against his chest, her legs drawn up, her head tucked against his shoulder. A bit of nonverbal magic warms Hermione's cup, and then Remus turns his head and presses his face to her jersey, marigold overwhelming the scent of soap and wool. Hermione sips her tea and sits in his lap, and the quiet soothes as it relaxes into the house, not even the ticking of a clock breaking the blanketing silence.

It feels like a holiday. The tension, the fight, the blood and death, it all seems ludicrously far away. He's warm with her cuddled against him, comfortable, his thoughts slowing. Remus's eyelids droop.

His head is heavy when he lifts it at the touch of her lips to his forehead.

"Come to bed," she murmurs, making his heart lurch and his eyes spring wide. Hermione's laughter has a flush building under his collar. He presses into her palm when she cups his cheek. "To sleep, you sweet, sweet man. Everyone else is down already, and we'll likely have to deal with Dumbledore and the rest of the Order tomorrow. We need rest, you especially. Will you rest next to me?"

He looks into her eyes. Remus smiles tiredly and kisses her palm. "Of course I will. Lead the way."

His head spins when he gets out of the chair, the way his body sways causing Hermione to wrap her arm around his waist. She grumbles a little about heating tea and using magic when he shouldn't have, and it's a careful trip up the stairs and down the long hallway. One door is closed, one just cracked open, a handful more standing wide. Remus thinks maybe Hermione's magically fiddled with the layout.

There weren't this many bedrooms when he lived here, were there?

A dark head pokes out of the cracked door. Remus isn't sure if he's imagining the smirk on Padfoot's muzzle – can dog's smirk? – but he's too tired to care. He wants a bed, he wants darkness and more of that soul-soothing quiet, and he wants Hermione lying close by his side. He's sure he'll sleep very well if he has those.

He doesn't see Padfoot retreat back into what could be either Harry's or Ella's room. The light going on in the bedroom makes him blink rapidly, and then hands are pressing against his shoulders and he's sitting and watching Hermione crouch at his feet, in the process of removing his shoes. She looks up at him through those delicate lashes once she's done and a sluggish thought tries to slide its way through his brain and heat his blood. But the sudden exhaustion, the return of the anvil in his chest that never really went away in the first place, it's too strong for the vague stirrings of his libido. Remus doesn't react at all when Hermione reaches for his belt.

"You need to recharge, don't you?" she murmurs, a tone in her voice Remus can't quite identify. "You've done too much too soon."

"M'fine," he mumbles, tongue tripping over the words. Confusion comes when he gets lost in his jumper as it's pulled over his head. "Shoul'… check wars."

"The wards are the only things fine here. Get under the covers, love. I'm right here."

"Wan' t' sleep," he slurs, eyes hooded as he watches her jersey and jeans come off. Hooded eyes drift shut when she reaches under the back of her t-shirt.

"So sleep. Turn it off, Remus. You're safe. Everyone's here and safe, I promise."

The bed dips and she's a blinding spot against his stomach, her hands on his chest, her head again under his chin. Remus's arms surround her, the covers at their shoulders. A soft word from Hermione and the light goes off. Remus sighs and pulls her closer.

"You're safe," he whispers. Then he drops like a rock.

~0~

Remus wakes to a note floating in the air beside the bed.

 _Getting supplies, won't be long. Kids and Padfoot are in the kitchen. Don't do anything too strenuous. Talk to Harry. I really, really liked waking up next to you._

The warmth in his chest creates a matching smile, and he takes a few moments before he forces himself from the bed, standing up gingerly. When the room doesn't spin, the smile becomes a grin. Remus heads to the dresser, a little part of him – a large part of him – wondering if his clothes and Hermione's side by side is going to be a permanent thing. They've only been together for a very short time, but from what he could remember from the night before…

Going to sleep with her in his arms had felt perfectly right.

He's still grinning when he takes careful steps down the stairs and walks into the kitchen to find Ella and Harry having a game of wizard's chess at the table. The cups from last night are still sitting there, his and Hermione's empties bunched together in a corner while the one he'd poured for Sirius sits full and cold, not having moved since he'd made it. Sirius himself is still Padfoot, watching the game closely with his paws up on the table, and it reminds Remus of middle-of-the-night conversations.

 _Harry thinks Sirius is stuck._

He takes the time to tip Sirius's cold tea out and goes about making himself his own cup, watching both Harry and Padfoot as covertly as he can. There's toast and jam, bacon and eggs and sausages, and the fact that they're cold, too, tells him it's later than he thinks. He hopes Hermione gets batteries while she's out.

He hopes she isn't away much longer.

"Morning, Remus," Ella chirps, looking up from the game and smiling at him. Remus murmurs a greeting back and takes the seat next to Padfoot. The dog looks over at him, Sirius's grey eyes cheerful, and completely superficial, and very, very guarded. Remus's forehead crinkles in a frown.

Is he really stuck? Or it just easier being Padfoot at the moment?

The thought is a little more disturbing than he likes, because they need all of them to make this home successful. Being stuck is fixable. Sirius's choice, however… Remus holds back his grimace and runs his hand gently over Padfoot's coat.

Fuck this war.

"Guys, do you think maybe I could talk to Harry for a bit?"

Harry tenses. Remus sees it without looking up from his cold eggs, but he doesn't say anything. Padfoot snuffles at Harry's shoulder and Ella's eyes are sharper than her years allow as she glances between the two wizards.

"We're in the middle of a game," Harry mumbles, eyes on the chessboard. Padfoot snorts softly, from the back of his throat. Ella grins.

"Remus can carry on for me if he likes. I'm no good at this game anyway. Mum said there's a library here?"

Startled by the use of his given name instead of her calling him 'professor', it takes a moment for Remus to answer. She'd called him that when he entered the kitchen but he hadn't really noticed. Not compared to now. His eyes swing to Ella and the girl's grin transforms into a knowing smirk very reminiscent of what her father had been wearing when he'd popped his head out the bedroom door the night before.

 _She knows._

The back of his neck heats up, and Remus has to fight hard not to drop his gaze. Of course she knows. They aren't being particularly discreet, are they, and fistfuls of thoughts about approval and acceptance and what Hermione would do if Ella _did_ reject her and Remus being together scramble his brain all of a sudden, making his heart pound. He'd given Hermione a bloody _hickey_ , for Merlin's sake!

He can't think of this now. He needs to talk to Harry.

Does she think he's good enough for her mother?

Shaking his head as if it'll shake away the anxiety, Remus gets up, a hand wrapped tightly around his mug. "I can finish for you, sure," he says, voice raspy until he clears his throat. Ella jumps up immediately. "Um, the library isn't much of one, I'm afraid, but it's off the living room down the hall. Help yourself to anything you like."

"Will do," Ella says, smile bright. "Coming, Padfoot?"

The girl and the dog leave the room, Padfoot wuffing quietly and nosing Harry again, then giving Remus's hand a quick lick before retreating after Ella. Harry still hasn't looked up from the game. His hair is falling in his face, his shoulders hunched.

He looks _so_ much like James. Remus presses his lips together, heart aching.

He isn't James, is he?

"Pawn to E4."

The games continues in silence for longer than Remus's nerves can handle. At some point he gets up and makes more tea, needing the distraction, and Harry looks up briefly when the steam from the mug at his elbow creeps its way across the board. He looks surprised and Remus can't take it anymore.

He doesn't want to push. But Harry's a typical teenage boy.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?"

Harry swallows. "I don't want to talk about it," he says, eyes back on the board. Remus sighs and takes a sip from his cup.

"I'm aware of that. But I think it's best we do. We'll be here for the rest of the summer, Harry. I need you to be able to trust me."

"Why'd you go directly against Dumbledore, then?"

The question smacks Remus right in the face. It's blurted, as if Harry hadn't meant to say it, and the wince that follows the question supports that theory, as does the way Harry folds up, hanging his head again. Remus blinks a few times and focuses on the oval curve to Harry's spine.

It's worrisome. Harry isn't a timid kid.

"We didn't," he begins slowly, eyes on the way the baggy red t-shirt the younger wizard is wearing drapes and falls over his back. Why is he still wearing such disgraceful hand-me-downs? "Not really. We just… we want you to be safe, son. Happy. You can't tell me you were either of those things at the Dursleys."

"Dumbledore was coming to take me to the Weasleys," Harry mumbles. The board sits forgotten between them. The pieces are looking distinctly disgruntled at the lack of play. Remus purses his lips.

"Dumbledore isn't in charge of you. Of course, you're the only one who's really in charge of you," he says calmly when Harry's head jackknives up, heavy protest twisting his features. "But you're only fifteen, Harry. You aren't of age. Sirius is your legal guardian, not Dumbledore. We did what we thought was best to keep you healthy and happy and safe. That's our right."

Harry's lip curls. "You're acting like Dumbledore would've deliberately put me in danger. He was just coming to play escort!"

"Was he?" Remus raises an eyebrow pointedly, then nods when the indignation on Harry's face falters. "See? You're not even sure of that yourself. Look, we're not saying Dumbledore is a bad guy here. We all know who that is. But Sirius, Hermione and I didn't know _anything_ about Dumbledore's plans for this summer. Not a thing, Harry. He didn't ask Sirius, or even run it past him, and that isn't right. We want you safe and the best way for that to happen is for you to be with us. If Dumbledore wants to insist on other plans, he can come talk to Sirius about it, like he should've in the first place."

The indecision on Harry's face is a stark reminder of how startlingly _naïve_ the boy still is – a reflection of how Remus, himself, used to feel until quite recently. The realisation twists his stomach in uncomfortable ways, and knowing what he has to talk about next only highlights the stressful knots.

The way he sucks in a bracing breath isn't at all discreet. Remus reaches out and lays a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I know that's not the only thing that's upset you."

Again, Harry's body curls. Remus's lungs rattle in time with his slamming, speeding heart. His hand tightens. Another deep breath does nothing to calm the fear swarming his veins.

"Harry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lost control in front of you. I'm s-sorry you had to see that-"

" _You're_ sorry?! Remus, _I'm_ sorry! I'm not afraid of you, I _swear_ I'm not, and I _hate_ that I've given you that impression! It's just, I've never seen your eyes turn yellow while you're still human, and it… it… it's no bloody excuse! I know what you are, I know what that means, and I'm _fully_ aware that there are some instincts you have no control over! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I reacted like a child and I shouldn't have-"

"Stop."

Harry's mouth snaps shut. Remus stares.

 _What?_

"You're… you're ashamed of reacting instinctively to a threat?"

"You're not a threat!" Harry bullets back, then blushes when Remus gapes at him. "Um… you're not. You, er, sh-shouldn't be apologizing to me, Remus. I should be apologizing to you. I'm really sorry."

His head is up, his eyes are earnest, and Remus can't move. Of everything he'd been thinking, he hadn't expected that. At all. He wants desperately to press the heels of his hands to his suddenly burning eyes. Instead, he settles for clearing his throat.

Then has to do it twice more before he can speak.

"Ah, Harry, you don't… have to. You d-don't have to-"

The oppressive feeling of the wards being tripped rips clearly through Remus's head, and he shoves himself to his feet with a gasp, wand in hand. His head wheels towards the front of the house before swinging back to Harry, the boy now on his feet as well, eyes wide.

"What is it?"

"Get to the library, lock the door, and you and Ella stay there until I come get you, all right? Tell Padfoot to stay there, too. I've got this. _Go_!" Remus barks when Harry hesitates. Jumping at the unexpected tone, he's off running without a word, and Remus pulls himself up straight, a rumble building in his chest when whoever it is trips the wards a second time.

Not a threat? Fuck that.

No one is touching his cubs.

It's ten long steps from the kitchen to the window right beside the front door. Deep down he knows that no one will see him moving the net curtains aside, just as he knows that no one could possibly see the house. Still, only twitching the net curtains aside a little is something he can't help, as is peering through the gap with his side pressed to the wall out of sight of the window.

What he sees, outside the layers upon layers of wards, outside the bounds of the fidelius charm, is confusing.

The beautiful silver phoenix just floats there. Remus knows who the Patronus belongs to immediately, and it's a relief as much as it is a complication.

Dumbledore knows where they are? That isn't possible. He's only ever been to the house once, many, many years ago. He isn't a secret-keeper.

 _But he knows the house's general location, doesn't he?_ _He knows where it should be. He must be aware of Harry's disappearance by now as well._

Remus curses loudly. Why hadn't they thought of that?

What the hell does he do now?

There's only one thing he can do. They knew they'd need to face the Order eventually. Remus sighs, and with all his heart he wishes Sirius wasn't stuck. With all his heart he wishes Hermione were there, helping him. But wishes aren't horses so he must face this himself. And since he can't afford to let Dumbledore on the property…

The phoenix flutters its wings when he stops beside it. Remus doesn't have the strength within him to conjure his own Patronus, but he doesn't need to, as the elegant silver bird vanishes almost the instant he arrives. His chest contracting, Remus sits. And waits.

The _crack_ is distant. The figure that treads on its heels steadily gets larger.

"Mr Lupin," Dumbledore greets him, lowering himself to the grass opposite Remus. "I trust Harry is perfectly safe?"

The absurdity of his old headmaster still insisting on addressing him the same as he did when Remus was under his care at school, abruptly strikes Remus as funny. It's very deliberate, he knows it is. The wry smile soon vanishes, however, because it makes him sad, too. Does Albus Dumbledore really think so highly of himself that he just can't treat other adults as his equal?

 _Dumbledore's opinion isn't gospel, nor is it law._

"He's fine," Remus says, looking the other man in the eye. "What are you doing here, Albus?"

Dumbledore's head cants curiously. "Well, I should think that would've been obvious, my boy."

To bare his teeth is an automatic response. "You're not taking him back."

"He doesn't need to go back. Wouldn't it be more prudent to have this discussion within the comfort of the wards? I'm not as young as I used to be, Remus, and this ground _is_ quite hard."

"No," Remus retorts, eyes narrowed. "You're staying here. You don't want him to go back?"

Dumbledore sighs. "If you insist," he says, then shakes his head. "No, Mr Lupin, Harry does not need to go back to the Dursleys. But I would like to take him on an errand with me, if that isn't too much to ask. It's something he will benefit from, I assure you."

 _An errand? What errand?_

"That's up to Sirius," Remus replies, "and I'm afraid Sirius is a bit busy at the moment. You'll have to come back another time."

"Too busy for Harry's best interests?" Dumbledore asks, and as if weirdly cued by the question, another _crack_ echoes from the house and Padfoot begins to bark madly. Remus is on his feet and back through the wards without a second thought, only realising that he's just essentially shown Dumbledore the house and allowed him through the fidelius when the headmaster follows him. He swears in his head but keeps going because if it is the enemy, at least Dumbledore can be counted on to help.

It isn't Death Eaters. It's Hermione. And she's holding Ella against her and shaking so badly, her teeth are chattering.

The distance between them doesn't exist. Remus pulls her to him and wraps his arms around both her and Ella, all three crumbling when Hermione's legs give out. Remus presses kiss after kiss to her temple, then her wet cheek, then her mouth when she turns her head, frantically seeking reassurance. She sobs against his lips, and Ella whimpers.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Harry demands, his hands balled into fists. Padfoot's still barking, his body crouched defensively in front of the house's occupants.

Dumbledore stands just inside the doorway, his hands up. For the first time, Remus notices how blackened and dead his right hand looks, but Hermione is still clinging to him for dear life so the observation slips away very easily.

"I mean them no harm, Sirius. I'm here to help, not hurt. Please, you must let me speak to Hermione and get to the bottom of this. I'm not here to hurt you but someone else might be hurt, and we need to find out who it is."

"No one is hurt, no one was there, I just wanted to… oh God, what have I done? H-Headquarters is compromised!"

"What?" Remus snaps, fear making him pull back from Hermione a little and run his hands over her in a desperate search for injuries. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Hermione whispers before sniffing and finally turning in his arms, her own still tightly wrapped around her daughter, who hasn't moved from her lap one inch. Padfoot whines and sits down on his haunches next to Ella. Harry's still standing by the window, face white.

"I didn't get hurt. I was at the ministry getting a few files I'd left there, and I was just beginning to apparate to Grimmauld because I thought… I thought if maybe I got the ball rolling, there wouldn't be so much backlash for taking Harry. I'm sorry, Albus, but Y-Yaxley came out of nowhere and grabbed my arm and I t-took him into Headquarters with me. I'm so sorry. So goddamn sorry. Headquarters has been compromised. You h-have to tell everyone that they can't g-go back there."


	17. Like His Reason

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** Of course not.

 **A/N –** This is very long, and I am very anxious. Ack. Anyway. Happy New Year, everyone! :)

" _I'm so sorry. So goddamn sorry. Headquarters has been compromised. You h-have to tell everyone that they can't g-go back there."_

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen: Like His Reason**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

Dumbledore doesn't stay long after Hermione's announcement. With a promise to be back as soon as possible, he disapparates with a _crack_ that seems to vibrate through everyone, leaving behind a very shaken family and a man who won't let go of his partner for fear of losing her. The fear is irrational, Remus knows it is, but still he sits on the floor in his dead parents' makeshift library and hugs Hermione to his chest with hands that clutch.

It's a very long time before anyone in the room moves. Remus isn't really surprised when Harry lets out a gusty sigh and runs a hand roughly through his hair before holding out said hand to Ella. The young witch sniffs and looks like she isn't going to remove herself from her mother's lap, but with the encouragement of a certain dog's wet nose, she takes Harry's hand.

"We need to finish the game, yeah?" Harry says quietly, smiling when Ella nods and allows herself to be pulled to her feet. Remus watches as the boy – the young _man_ now, more than anything – looks to Hermione for permission and then leads Ella back into the kitchen to finish the chess game Remus and he had abandoned. Padfoot looks conflicted from a moment, and then noses Hermione, who sends him a flicker of a smile and rubs a hand over the top of his head.

"Please go. I'll feel better if they aren't alone."

Padfoot's ears perk up. His tongue comes out in a doggy grin, and then he's trotting after the two youngers of the house with purpose in his step. It makes something niggle in the back of Remus's head, but then Hermione turns in his arms and the thought vanishes.

His head falls to rest on top of hers. His heavy exhale makes her curls dance over her cheek.

"Why would you go to the ministry?" he whispers to her, arms tightening at her shudder. Sounding just as young as her teenage daughter, Hermione sniffs and burrows herself closer into his chest.

"There's important things I couldn't leave there. Things we need to talk about. All of us, together. I didn't expect… he just appeared out in the open! Why would he take that type of risk?"

"I don't know," Remus says, then doesn't say anything else. He holds her to him and tries to settle his heart down; to make it stop trying to slam its way out of his chest. Her fingers dig into his upper arms, and Remus sits and breathes in lungful after lungful of marigold, his mind hissing dreadful things, repeating them over and over, making his chest contract.

He could have lost her. For however brief a time, Hermione had been in the hands of a Death Eater.

He could have lost her.

Again.

His heart won't accept it. Can't accept it. And because he knows if he doesn't _do_ something, even just getting up and making sure the rest of the household's occupants are all right, he'll do something else that'll make Hermione's trip to London look like child's play on the idiot scale, he forces himself to his feet, bringing Hermione with him.

Hermione resists for just a moment and then lets out a long sigh.

"Must we go adult?" she whispers into his chest. Remus cups her chin and gently lifts it before lowering his head and kissing her, long and slow.

"I'm right next to you. Did you happen to get supplies before your little… jaunt? Firewhiskey, perhaps?"

Hermione tilts her head and regards him curiously, questions in her eyes at his tone. Ultimately, however, she chooses not to ask them. Instead, her mouth twists up in a wry look of amusement.

"It's not even noon, Remus John Lupin."

"I think we can forget that fact this one time, don't you? Come on. You need family and whiskey."

They spend the rest of the day in the kitchen, drinking copious cups of tea, only the first three or so laced with firewhiskey, and playing multiple games, both wizarding and muggle alike. Remus sits beside Hermione and watches her interact with Ella and Harry. He watches Harry grin and laugh and throw up his hands, and he watches Ella subtly and not-so-subtly tease her mother about her relationship with Remus – something that both he and Hermione realise around the same time that they'd revealed to Harry without meaning to in the library. Remus watches Harry a bit closer after that, but doesn't see any disapproval from the youngster. Then again, he wouldn't, would he?

Harry has always been a champion at minding his own business – unless he doesn't want to, that is.

Afternoon becomes evening, the evening meal is made, and drinks become firewhiskey minus the tea. Remus can't stop himself from touching. He just has to know she's there; that's she safe. His hand is on her waist, on her shoulder, on her back. He tries not to make it too obvious, knowing he's failing miserably, and expects some protest. But for reasons only she understands, no protest comes.

Hermione smiles at him when his knee presses again hers. She leaves the room twice, and although Remus doesn't push it as far as following her – it disturbs him a little how much he _wants_ to – she immediately takes his hand once she's come back in and sitting down again. She's leaning against his shoulder when she shoos the kids to bed, head on his bicep, and by then, Remus is lagging, too.

It's been a very long day. One that's best to be over, he thinks.

"Come to bed?" she asks him, smiling when he nods silently. Padfoot has followed the kids up the stairs, and they encounter him curled up on the floor in the corridor, exactly halfway between Harry's and Ella's bedrooms. His head lifts and Remus stops, confliction tugging at his stomach.

Sirius is his best mate.

"Give me a moment?" he says quietly. Even he can hear the reluctance in his voice, and Padfoot snorts and proves that, yes, indeed, dogs _can_ smirk as Hermione murmurs agreement and brushes her lips against the corner of his mouth before continuing to their room

 _Their_ room. Yes. It's theirs.

"I know, I know, don't give me that look," he mutters to the dog laughing at him once the door closes and they have the hallway to themselves. "I'm whipped. So be it. Let's talk about you."

The dog's head lowers immediately. Remus sighs and runs a hand through his hair, eyeing his oldest, most loyal friend. Padfoot's ears flicker. His nose digs further between his paws.

"You can't stay like that forever, you know," Remus says, tracing Padfoot's spine. It was still standing out more than it should, despite Poppy's regeneration potions. Come to think of it, he hasn't really seen Padfoot eat much since they'd gotten here. He'd only nibbled at his steak and kidney pie that evening, but Remus had thought that was because his canine stomach couldn't handle human food the way his human one could. Remus smooths the hair down over the dog's leg, worry niggling under his breastbone.

"You're not okay at the moment, are you? M'sorry, mate. And I'm even sorrier to have to say this, but we need you, Sirius." He swallows and shoves the guilt away. Sometimes you just had to do the things you really didn't want to do. "Harry needs you. Try to keep that in mind? I don't want to force anything on you, but… just try to keep that in mind. At least until we've destroyed the bastards."

Remus sighs again, then gets to his feet. Padfoot's head doesn't move. "Sorry, mate," he repeats, very softly. Then, with his heart horribly heavy, he turns away from Sirius and heads towards his room.

"Everything all right?" Hermione asks from her position in the middle of the bed. She's changed into some sort of sleep set, a cool blue that look slippery to the touch.

Remus wants to touch her.

In more ways than one.

"No," he says, and Hermione grimaces and holds out her hand. He goes to her willingly, the bed just as soft as it was the night before. She leans forward and kisses him, and Remus finds out that her sleep set is indeed, very slippery, the fabric warming under wandering hands, the soft, encouraging noises she makes making his head spin. Following her as she falls back on the mattress, Remus pulls away from her mouth and finds home in the curve of her neck and collarbone, his hands pushing up slippery-cool material and drifting along the hot skin of her stomach. He presses his lips and drags his tongue, and Hermione shifts anxiously and lets loose a little sound that goes straight to Remus's very rapidly becoming interested groin.

He wants to make her make that sound again. He wants to hear it repeated like a mantra, the sound running off into his name as he makes her come apart under him. He wants his name on her lips as he makes her break, and he wants to be the one to sooth her back together again. He _is_ going to be the one to sooth her back together again.

But not tonight.

Shoving the fabric up until it sits under her breasts, Remus ducks his head and breathes softly against her stomach, lips pressing kisses he won't take any further. Her muscles quiver a little under his touch, her hands finding their way into his hair. The feeling of her fingers against his scalp is wonderful, and Remus presses one last kiss to her skin before looking up, his chin coming to rest on top of his hands just below her belly button.

Hermione's looking down at him with heavy-lidded eyes and cheeks warmly flushed. Remus has to stifle a groan and lower his head, cheek making contact with her midriff, his eyes drifting shut when her fingers begin to move in a gentle massage that he feels right to the ends of his his toes. He sighs and leans into her hands, smiling to himself when she chuckles.

"Do you want to change?" she murmurs. Shaking his head, he breathes in her glorious scent and lets himself relax. He wants to sleep like this. He wants to wake up like this.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He doesn't want the world to intrude. Her question tightens the muscles in the back of his neck, something Hermione must sense, as her fingers pause in their massage. The thoughts and feelings that he's done his best to keep at bay all day surge to the forefront, and Remus squeezes his eyes shut, his gut churning.

When he lifts his head a second time, Hermione is looking at him steadily.

"I don't like that you went off to London by yourself. That you made that decision by yourself. You could've gotten seriously hurt."

Hermione sighs. "I know you don't," she says, fingers beginning to move again. "But I can take care of myself, Remus. You know I can. I've been doing it for years, haven't I?"

 _I want to take care of you,_ Remus thinks but doesn't say, because he's not entirely sure if she'll appreciate it. He's never been this possessive of anything before – any _one_ , really, and it's a bit startling, if he's honest with himself. The fact that she's _let_ him act the way he has all day surprises him to no end, and Remus lays his cheek down again.

"We're together in this. All of us. Please don't do it again."

She doesn't answer his quiet request, but then Remus doesn't expect her to. His hands pet her skin as the room settles into a deep, not-quite-confident silence, and his chest loosens a little at a softly murmured word and the lights going out. Letting the darkness do its best to wash away the feelings that make him want to grab her and run, to never let her go, he breathes in the rich scent of marigold and closes his eyes.

It's quite a while before either of them sleep.

~0~

Dumbledore comes back the next day. The wards don't scream like they had before he'd known about the fidelius, but they do warble through Remus's head, the two adults and the still-Padfoot looking up and then at each other at the feeling. Remus hadn't let his disappointment show when Padfoot had trotted down the stairs – he'd tried to not even _feel_ it, because Sirius had been through so much more than anyone could be expected to deal with and come out the other side healthy. Time is needed, and if it was just going to be him and Hermione in the house with magic at their fingertips, then he'll do his best to give Sirius exactly that.

There's a knock on the door. Hermione squeezes his hand before she answers it, and Dumbledore sits at the opposite end of the kitchen table to Remus, calm blue eyes falling on Harry and Ella, then Padfoot, then looking back at Remus and Hermione. "Perhaps the children can leave us to speak in private?" he suggests, smiling across the table and steepling his fingers, "I'm sure they both have summer homework to do."

"No," Hermione says, just as Harry opens his mouth to protest. Surprise lights up his face, and then a grin keeps the light. He folds his arms and sits back, looking extremely pleased with himself. "Harry and Ella are staying. We're in this together. Whatever you want to say to us, you can say to them, too."

Dumbledore doesn't look happy with this statement, but he doesn't argue. Clearing his throat, he sits tall and straight, his face the very picture of good intentions.

Good intentions path the road to hell, don't they?

"You were indeed correct in your assessment of Headquarters being compromised, Miss Granger," he begins, his silvery robe lying perfectly over his bony frame. Remus wishes he wouldn't wear those grandfatherly glasses. They don't fit with the real person hiding beneath the character, and the fact that Remus recognises that hurts more than it should. "Grimmauld Place has been ransacked and is no longer considered safe to return to. Thankfully, you were also correct in your assessment of Headquarters being empty at the time of compromise, so none of our operatives were caught unawares. This does bring us to a problem, however."

He pauses there and leans forward slightly, his earnest expression making Remus feel sick. Because he knows where this is going. He can see it coming from a mile away.

Padfoots growls, low in his chest. Hermione's fingers tremble around her coffee cup.

Can they even say no?

"With no Headquarters, we no longer have a place to meet. A place to plan. With Headquarters compromised, we no longer have a place to be safe, and that is simply not acceptable. Which is why I must ask you a favour."

 _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

"You already have the appropriate wards set up here," Dumbledore says. "You are in the middle of nowhere, and this house isn't known to the Death Eaters like number 12 was. It is close enough to London to apparate and disapparate. It would make the perfect place for a new Headquarters."

" _No_!" Remus spits, his voice echoing Padfoot's louder growl. All Hermione does is stare at the headmaster, expression unreadable, and Ella and Harry sit close together and watch the exchange carefully. Dumbledore sighs and shakes his head, his disappointment apparent.

"You took Mr Potter to keep him safe, did you not? He will be hiding in a remote part of the country with the Order surrounding him until he goes back to school. How can he possibly be safer than that?"

"I can take care of myself!" Harry pipes up indignantly, but is by and large ignored by all except Ella, who shushes him with a wave of her hand. Remus's teeth grind together, his jaw aching with the effort of holding himself back from telling the old man exactly what he thinks of him. Dumbledore _always_ has to be in control.

It isn't fair.

"Harry isn't the only one who needs a safe haven, either," Dumbledore continues calmly. In that moment, Remus hates him. "We all do. You would turn away your fellow Order members? I take it you are still part of the Order, despite your rebellion. Your friends need their safety secured as well. Will you not give them that security?"

"Fuck your security, and fuck _you_!" a voice barks. Remus's head snaps around to see Padfoot now Sirius Black, tall and dark and _angry._ He plants his hands on the table and bares his teeth, hair falling in stormy cold grey eyes. "Both these kids are _mine,_ and you will have nothing to do with them, do you hear me? Harry is _not_ a fucking pawn in your game! We took him away to reinforce that, and you will _not_ guilt us into letting him back into your clutches!"

"We can't let the Order fall to pieces, though," comes another unexpected voice, speaking very quietly. Dumbledore smiles at Harry's comment, and Harry, himself, looks incredibly nervous when all attention turns in his direction. "Um, we can't not give them somewhere to… be. We can't. Turning them away isn't an option. Is it?"

There's a plea in his eyes, and for a long moment, there isn't any reaction from his three guardians. Finally, a very soft " _fuck,_ " cracks the silence.

They can't break Harry's heart.

"Excellent," Dumbledore says, beaming now. "I shall let them know. Remus? Care to walk me out?"

Walking the old man out is the last thing Remus wants to do. Feeling resigned, however, he gets to his feet and follows him to the front door, Dumbledore stopping once he steps into the driveway. He turns to Remus expectantly, and in an instant, Remus's hackles rise.

"What?" he asks, unable to help the way he speaks through his teeth. Dumbledore's brow goes up.

"I have already mentioned that you and I need to talk, my boy," he says mildly. "Isn't now as good a time as any?"

Remus groans and rubs a hand over his face, hiding the panic starting to bubble up in his gut. "Does it even matter that I know what you're going to ask, and that I already know I don't want anything to do with it?"

Dumbledore looks surprised. "Of course it does. You have a choice, Remus. I've always given you a choice in this."

Remus's answering laughter is bitter in both in taste and sound. His raised hackles bristle, eclipsing the panic in a most satisfying way, and for once letting the hot beast in his chest have its head, he takes a step closer to the man he's seen as a hero most of his life. Anger licks at his breast, and Remus breathes it out like oxygen, fuelling the words kept tight inside him since he'd realised Dumbledore game plan.

Enough is enough.

"A choice?" he repeats, very quietly; so quietly that Dumbledore frowns and leans in closer. "I never had a choice, Headmaster. You are an expert at playing on people's sympathies, something that happened perfectly inside. You know all the rules and see all the outcomes, and you have no trouble in manipulating events until everything comes out rosy in your eyes. That's exactly what you did with me, isn't it?"

Dumbledore's frown deepens, and Remus has the distinct satisfaction of seeing wariness grow in those ever-jovial eyes. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

Remus snorts derisively. "Bullshit. You know everything you need to know. You knew what would happen if I spent a lengthy amount of time in a werewolf pack's company. The entire point of sending me to the wolves was to for me to learn what it felt like to be a wild werewolf, yes? For me to know what it was like to be a wolf in human form, so that I knew how to act in the future. That was why you told Hermione not to join me when I was first on wolfsbane at Hogwarts. So that that I could learn to be a werewolf on wolfsbane alone."

He takes another step closer, his anger downplaying the jolt he feels when he realises that he is, in fact, taller than Dumbledore. "It was all for the greater good, wasn't it, Albus? My pain and fear, the suffering I went through, it was all so that I could become an effective pawn. Just like you're trying to make Harry. I know how to act like a wolf in human form now, and I know how to act like a wild werewolf under the moon while still having my human mind. I'm the perfect spy now, aren't I, _Headmaster_? All for the fucking _greater good."_

He growls the last part, low and threatening, and somewhere inside him, he gives Albus Dumbledore credit for not backing down from the threat. Regret is stamped across his face for the briefest moment, making him look his advanced years, and then his chin lifts. Dumbledore sighs, his mouth twisting.

"I've done many things in my life that I wish I'd never had to do, Remus," he says, "and I'm sure they'll be more to come still. For what it's worth, I am sorry, my boy. Very sorry for what you've had to go through."

He steps away from Remus and folds his arms into the opposite sleeves of his robes, his head hanging. If Remus hadn't been so agitated, he would have laughed at the display.

The crafty old wizard sure knew how to put it on.

"I am sorry, too, for what I have to ask of you next," Dumbledore says, turning back, his voice quiet. "You are, unfortunately, right in everything, and also unfortunately, you are now needed more than ever. The man who has been your objective from the very beginning is out in the open, and we need to get as close to him as possible, for he has information that could be very helpful to our cause. I hate to ask you this, Remus, I really do. But will you go back? One last time?"

Standing on the spot in the driveway of his house that has just become the new Headquarter of the Order of the Phoenix, Remus gapes at the man in front of him. The red beast in his chest roars its disapproval of the question, and Remus's hands shake, his skin prickling. He stares at the Order's leader without saying a word – _unable_ to say a word – and perhaps sensing that he's pushed it a step too far, too soon, Dumbledore smiles a little and inclines his head.

"You don't have to decide just yet, of course; we do have a little time. Nothing will happen until the new school year starts. I will send the Order members your way as soon as I can, and be back myself, so that we may situate ourselves and have our first meeting. Until then, I say good day to you, Remus."

He disapparates with the usual _crack_ , and Remus stares at the empty spot he's left behind, his mind a jumbled, angry, miserable mess. Eventually, he manages to pull himself together enough to go inside.

Hermione frowns the moment she sees his face.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Remus says, heading up the stairs and ignoring the way her mouth pinches at the corner.

~0~

Just as Dumbledore had said, the Order members begin arriving not long after. The wards shriek constantly, as none of the members are in on the fidelius, and Hermione, Remus, and Sirius take turns at going out to meet them and bringing them inside. They come few and far between, the Weasleys one of the firsts to arrive, and Remus is in the kitchen discussing recipes with Molly – and turning his back on Hermione's thoroughly amused smirk – when Sirius escorts the last couple of members inside.

"Wotcher, Remus!"

Blinking in surprise, Remus swings around to find a brightly grinning Nymphadora Tonks standing just inside the kitchen doorway. "Dora!" he exclaims happily, walking over to pull the currently rainbow-haired girl into a hug. "I didn't know you were coming!"

Dora laughs and hugs him back. "'Course I'm gonna be here, tosspot. Order member, aren't I?" she says, pulling away from him. When Remus looks startled, she laughs harder and smacks his arm. "Mate, your face is a picture. Didn't know that, then?"

"No," Remus says faintly, a little bemused. He'd known he hadn't met every Order member the year before, as many of them had been away on long-term missions. He _hadn't_ known that little Dora had been one of them.

Dora still looks amused. "That's okay, isn't it?" she asks, rather dryly, sharing a look with Sirius. Remus smiles at her and shrugs.

"Sure. 'Course. We need all the help we can get."

"Well, that's all right, then," Dora says cheerfully. "'Lo, Hermione! Where's Harry?"

"Out back," Hermione answers. Remus feels movement at his elbow and then her hand slips into his. "Hello, Tonks. Bedrooms are upstairs, make yourself at home."

Dora grins. "Will do!" she says before turning and bounding up the stairs, only just stopping herself from tripping up the first few steps. Remus shakes his head at her energy.

The girl makes him feel old.

It isn't the only thing she makes him feel, he realises in the days to come. Just as she had at his house a couple of years before – a social call that had had hidden intentions, it seems, as Dora had come looking for her cousin in an official capacity, her nostalgic visit to Remus only a front; something that makes Remus frown and Sirius laugh his arse off – Dora Tonks brings his past back to him without painful shadows haunting the memories. He laughs a lot in her company, and Dora smiles wider whenever he does. It seems to be her aim, to make him laugh, but after a couple of days, confusion sets in as well.

Hermione's avoiding him. He knows she is, but he doesn't know why, and it hurts some – more than some – because he misses her. They're still sleeping in the same room, in the same bed, but there's no more warm presses of a palm on his back, no more smirks across the kitchen table, no more mouthing hot skin to produce desperate little sounds. She's all grumbles and mutters and nose-in-the-air, and Remus is at a complete loss.

He has no fucking clue what he's done.

What makes it worse is _Sirius_ seems to know. The arrogant git is laughing to himself constantly, and Remus gets the impression that occasionally, Dora is joining in. It pisses him off, being kept deliberately out of the loop, and when Hermione heads to bed one night without asking him to accompany her, and Sirius practically _giggles_ into his knees, he's had just about as much as he can take. Shoving his chair back, he stomps up the stairs.

"Go get her, Moony!" Sirius calls after him, almost choking on his laughter. Remus flips him the bird and keeps going.

"What the bloody hell's wrong with you?" he demands the instant he slams the door open and walks into their bedroom. Hermione's half undressed by then, in the process of removing her jeans when he enters, her pyjama top already in place. Her fingers pause on the zipper and her head comes up very slowly.

" _Excuse me_?"

Two words have never been so icy.

"I said, what the bloody hell's wrong with you?" Remus asks again, too annoyed to take heed of the warning signs. "You've been ignoring me for the past three days, and I've no clue why! What've I done to piss you off so badly, hmm? Nothing that I can recall!"

"Nothing that you can recall?" Hermione repeats, drawing the words out in a dangerously soft tone. "Nothing that you can _recall_? Oh, that's rich. Conveniently lost your memory, have you? A pretty girl catches your attention and your brain turns to mush?"

Remus blinks, bemused and more than a little thrown by the completely unexpected statement. "What?"

"Don't you 'what' me!" Hermione hisses, striding forward to poke him painfully in the chest. Remus blinks again and glances down, then looks back into her face. Her eyes are firing at him, but there's something there, hidden beneath the anger, that makes him take pause. He frowns, his own irritation draining.

It's like she's been waiting to get this out; a pot simmering, just itching to boil.

 _Well, let's get to boiling, then, shall we?_

"Hermione, please, I need you to explain this. I don't know what you're talking about, love."

"No, of course you don't," Hermione scoffs, "you're a man, aren't you? Men can do whatever they bloody well want, smile at whoever they bloody well want, _have_ whoever they bloody well-"

"Stop," Remus orders sharply, cutting her off and making her gawk at him owlishly, taken aback by his tone. "Why are you saying these things? You're not making any sense. You almost sound like you're… Hermione." He sighs her name as the pieces fall into place. The last time she'd acted like this, they'd been back in school and he'd been with… fuck it.

"Hermione, why are you jealous?"

"Jealous? I'm not jealous!" Her voice is shrill, her step away swift, and Remus folds his arms and looks at her pointedly. Hermione huffs loudly, then shows him her back. Her spine is very stiff.

"Yes, because that's clearly not jealousy," Remus mutters under his breath. Then, because he can't handle the distance between them – literally and figuratively – he crosses to her and stops a hair's breadth away, very much wanting to reach for her. But whatever barrier she has up is stopping him for doing that.

Which only brings his annoyance right back.

"You're being ridiculous," he says, holding his ground when she gasps in outrage and spins around. Not expecting him to be so close, she wobbles, and Remus steadies her in a movement he couldn't have prevented if he'd tried, letting her go just as quickly. "Don't get huffy, you _are_ being ridiculous. The only person I want is you."

"Then why the bloody hell are you flirting with Tonks?!" Hermione snaps, finally boiling over and making Remus's eyes go wide.

"What? I'm not!"

"You _are_ , and I _hate_ it, and I want it to _stop_!"

"How can I stop something I'm not even doing?" Remus barks back, glaring at her. "You're seeing things that aren't there, nor will they ever be! I don't want Dora! She's just a girl!"

"She's an adult and she wants you, and I can't _stand_ the way she looks at you-"

"She can want me all she bloody well likes, but she's not going to _get_ me, as I've been in love with you half my fucking life!"

Hermione's mouth drops open. His shout dies into silence, and Remus mutters to himself, his anger slowly slipping away at the absolutely gobsmacked look on her face. He frowns and takes her hands, squeezing gently.

"Why are you acting like you didn't already know that?"

Hermione's burst of laughter seems to startle her as much as it does him. "Um… m-maybe because I didn't?"

Her words only make Remus's frown grow. He's more confused than he's ever been. "Er… how can you not?"

She laughs again, a sound of indulgence, and light, and _relief_ , and then his arms are full of the woman he loves. She laughs and kisses his neck, and then his cheeks, both sides, and then his mouth, again and again. She still laughing, and Remus kisses her back until he feels wetness against his skin.

She's crying. Why is she crying?

"Hermione?"

"Come to bed," she whispers, letting him go and tugging at his hands. "Remus. Come to bed. Take me to bed. Please?"

He searches wet eyes and finds something that makes his heart swell. He's right in front of her in one firm step, and he swallows her renewed laughter, pushing back until her calves hit the bed. She sits and Remus leans over her, cupping the back of her neck and sliding his lips over hers, coaxing a sigh, then a gasp, then a moan.

The sounds delight him. He wants more.

She gives those sounds to him when he sucks at the skin of her throat, running his teeth along her collarbone and dipping his tongue into the hollows, searching out the areas that make her gasp and whine and mewl. Marigold floods his head like a drug, and he's soon shifting his hips and climbing up onto the bed, Hermione shuffling herself back and taking him by the back of his head, drawing his mouth back to hers. Her tongue wraps around his as her torso arches up, and Remus's answering groan is ragged. He breaks away, breathing heavily.

"My s-shirt. T-take it off."

Sucking in air like it's about to run out, Remus shakes his head. "Don't wanna… move too quickly. Want this to… last."

"We can go as slowly as you want next time, I swear, but Remus, please, _please_ , take off my shirt. I n-need you."

He smiles against her shoulder. "Well, if you insist," he mutters, grinning at her before kissing her again, his fingers surprising him as they make short work of her buttons. Hermione mouth is open and eager, and his hands smooth down her bare sides, his thumbs just scraping the edges of her breasts.

She isn't wearing a bra.

 _Pyjama shirt. Right._

He kisses her, drinking in her noises, and explores hot skin that isn't really as smooth as he's always imagined, fingers gentle. When he hesitates and then ventures up over her breasts, circling peaked nipples in a continuous pattern, she whimpers into his mouth. Her whole body jumps when he finally drags his thumbs over those peaked nipples. He chuckles against her lips and falls away to pay attention to the sensitive skin under her ear.

"Do you want my mouth on you, love?" he whispers softly, nibbling at her lobe. It _thrills_ him that he can make her react like this, giving him confidence he'd never thought he'd have their first time. His Hermione is a strong witch, her _own_ witch, and _he's_ the one making her come to pieces. _His_ hands are playing her, and _his_ mouth will be the one that makes her cry out. Makes her beg.

Sweet Merlin, he wants her to beg.

"Hmm? What's that? Was that a yes, my sweet witch?" He chuckles again when her nodding becomes rapid. "I think I can accommodate you. Here?" He dances his tongue down the line of her throat, sipping languidly at her pulse. She shifts and sighs and arches her head back, hands fluttering up off the bedspread before falling to grip hard. Remus flicks her nipples a final time, the runs his own hands down her arms and intertwines their fingers.

"Or perhaps here? No?" he breathes into the valley between her breasts. It's just a little bit sweat-slick, and more than a little burning hot, the faint taste of soap and daytime and marigold so additive, he almost misses the way she wiggles impatiently.

"Reeeeeemuuuus… God, stop teasing! _Please_!"

"No, not there, then. Is it here, Hermione, my love?"

" _Yes_!" Hermione cries when his lips surround her nipple. "Yes! Ah-h, _fuck! Remus!"_

Remus's head pops up with a grin. "Patience is a virtue, you know."

"I don't fucking care about virtues _or_ patience, you prat! I want you want inside me and I want it _now_!"

Remus hums quietly. "Okay."

Letting go of her hands, he darts to the fastening of her jeans, finding it already undone and the zipper half down. His mind flies to the way he'd found her when he'd walked into the room, but he's soon brought back to the present when she sits up and scrambles for the bottom of his jumper, pulling it up his torso in awkward tugs that only succeed when he stops to help her. His shirt quickly follows, and then his shoes – kicked off so hurriedly he nearly falls off the bed – socks and trousers, but he halts her at the waistband of his pants.

"Not so fast," he murmurs. Hermione bares her teeth in frustration and pulls her shirt off the rest of the way.

"Anyone would think you don't bloody want me," she mutters. Remus laughs quietly.

"Oh, I want you, sweet witch. Very much. But you'll get fast when I _give_ you fast. Understand?"

Hermione's eyes go round. "Remus, I- _o-oh-h._ "

"My thoughts exactly," Remus says through gritted teeth, his hips canting upwards in search of desperately needed friction as his fingers explore soaked folds. His sight of his hand moving inside her jeans is filthy and delicious, and he watches himself finger-fuck her for a while, his other hand drifting toward his aching erection, palming himself through the material of his underwear. He licks his lips and slides himself across his palm, a groan escaping when her body begins to buck into his hand.

"Are you coming, Hermione?" he asks roughly, already knowing the answer. Needing to taste her collapse on her lips, he leans down and takes her mouth, her sex spasming around his fingers, her heart slamming against his. Hermione moans, low and drawn out, then sighs and smiles up at him when he pulls back.

"In me now?" she asks, voice a slur. Remus bites his lip and nods, pulling his hand free of her jeans and hurriedly getting rid of his pants.

"Lift your hips, love. Good girl. Legs around me. There you go."

He touches himself to line himself up, the feeling making him gasp. Then, hooking her legs up around his back properly, he brushes her tangled hair out of her face and slowly slides inside.

"Ohhhh… fuuuuck… _Remus_ …"

"Fuck, I love you," he groans, pausing once fully seated for a long, trembling moment, then drawing back and sliding smoothly back in. "I love you so much. _So much._ "

"I bet you say that… to all the girls," she sighs, her laughter soft and teasing, dark eyes dancing. "No?" she continues, imitating him, her voice rising an octave on his next thrust, her hips rising to meet his. "Just me, then. That's good. That's very… good. That's the way it _should_ … be. Fuck, you're good at this."

"Hermione?" he whispers, stroking into her, his hands framing her face. When she blinks and smiles up at him lazily, he leans down and breathes in her ear.

"Shut up and let me fuck you, all right?"

Her laughter vibrates through his chest. "All right, then. Do your worst."

 _My best, actually,_ Remus thinks, then sets out to prove it. The pace is slow, gliding long and achingly thorough, and Remus stares down into murky, hooded eyes, keeping his gaze locked with hers. Rolling his hips on every other thrust, he watches as her jaw gradually, _gradually,_ slackens, her eyelids beginning to flutter.

Her body starting to bow.

"Look at me," he whispers. Hermione's eyes waver open and meet his again, and Remus reaches down between their bodies and finds her clit, moving his fingers in time with hips that have abruptly picked up speed. She gasps and stiffens, and he captures her loud cry when she jerks and clenches around him, gripping him hard, coming in waves that shakes her body.

And his.

Remus releases her mouth and presses his face into her shoulder, hips now moving rapidly. She's very wet, and very hot, and she feels _so fucking good_ , and when she slowly begins to move with him again, her hands sliding down over his back and squeezing his arse to urge him on, he thrusts a handful more times and then lets out a strangled gasp, sensation building, travelling, _slamming_ down his spine, legs shaking and cock buried deep. His gasp turning into a long groan, Remus manages to find just enough fortitude to stop himself collapsing on top of her.

His still tingling when she rolls him onto his side and cuddles in close, kissing him with enough sweetness to set his heart racing. Her sigh is satisfied, her eyes droopy, and her words…

Her words blow his world apart.

"I love you, too. Always have, always will."

She falls asleep with a spare blanket thrown haphazardly over them and her breath blowing steadily across his chest. It isn't until her breathing evens out that he realises he hasn't worried about her seeing his scars. Not once.

Remus stares into the darkness for a long, long time.

~0~

"Remus?" Hermione murmurs sleepily at him much later, bare skin warm, body soft and slow. Remus smooths her hair back and leans down to brush his lips over the four freckles shaped like a diamond on her shoulder that he'd noticed at some point during his sleepless night.

His diamond.

His woman.

"Go back to sleep, love. I'm just getting some water."

"Hurry back," she sighs, fluttering eyes closing firmly, her spread hand finding place on the empty bed space he's left behind. A second sigh drifts from her as she turns to bury her face into the bedspread a little, giving Remus a brilliant view of the curvature of her back, her magnificent hair falling over her shoulder to rest as a highlight to the freckle-diamond.

The werewolf has to force himself from the room.

"I'll do it," he says into the floo in the library once he's pulled his trousers on and scampered through the house – the only floo that's connected to the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. Dumbledore, the man who never sleeps, sets down the document he's working on and smiles at Remus quietly, looking extraordinarily pleased.

Sometimes you just had to do the things you really didn't want to do.


	18. Like His Duty

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** Standard disclaimer about me not owning anything Harry Potter related applies, don't you think?

 **A/N -** Hello! Back again! I don't say this enough, but thank you for everyone's continuing love and support for this story. I appreciate each and every one of you. So much. :)

 _Sometimes you just had to do the things you really didn't want to do._

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen: Like His Duty**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

"Good shag, then?" Sirius says the moment Remus walks into the kitchen the next morning. Remus stops dead, his head jerking around, his face flushing at the loud snort of laughter from a certain blue-haired witch, his best mate's face the very picture of unholy glee as his brows waggle themselves at Remus like they have a mind of their own. Sirius is sitting at the table with Tonks next to him, and thankfully, there isn't anyone else in the room. Remus glares at the pair of them, head high.

"Mind your own bloody business, Black," he says, and even he's surprised at how irritated he sounds. He's been twitchy all morning, his mind running a mile a minute, his stomach knotting every time he looks over at the woman sleeping as if she doesn't have a care in the world in their bed next to him.

He loves her. So very much. It's a little hard to comprehend how much he loves her, and the fact that his feelings run so deep, are so undeniable, should make him want to run. They should make the panic wriggle greasily through his gut, should set his heart rate soaring until it takes over all his senses.

Instead, they do the opposite.

It's baffling.

Hermione isn't ever going to accept a plea of worthlessness from him. He can just imagine her face if he tries; the exasperation, the disapproval, the plain disbelief. And he doesn't really feel overly unworthy around her when he thinks about it. She makes him feel... rooted. Right there, in himself. A jolt of iron up his spine; a solid support beam tying him to the here and now. He doesn't want to run because he expects she'll only follow him – he doesn't _need_ to run. There's too much to keep safe, too much that means his soul to him, for him to abandon everyone he holds dear.

Especially her.

He cannot run. But he _must_ protect. And the fact that he _knows_ she won't approve of his upcoming venture, that she'll shout her disagreement and censure at him while he tries to get her to see the _rightness_ of what he has to do, has been making him jumpy since he first woke up beside her. He doesn't like it.

He _hates_ it.

The very last thing he wants is to be on the outs with her.

Sirius's brow rises, and the smirk he's been wearing from the moment Remus entered the room widens. He leans forward, hands on the table top, eyes on Remus. Remus's expression immediately turns wary. "Well, you see, Moony, it sort of _is_ my business, considering I'm the one who stopped it being _everyone's_ business last night."

"What are you on about?" Remus asks, watching Sirius as he rounds the table and heads for the stove. He doesn't know if Hermione's ever had breakfast in bed, but he knows he hasn't.

They can have it together. The soft smile that turns up the corner of his mouth instantly vanishes when Sirius next speaks.

"I'm _on_ about the fact that not only did you forget to use a silencing charm last night, mate, but you also forgot to shut your bedroom door."

Remus slowly sets the kettle back down. The realisation is a rush of icy cold that shouldn't set his cheek aflame.

 _No._

"'Course, being the best mate and fellow Marauder that I am, I had your back. No one heard or saw anything they shouldn't have – besides me, that is. Hermione's still as eager for it as she ever was, isn't she? Still does that sexy little moan, too. Times never change, yeah?"

" _Sirius_!"

Dora's shocked exclamation abruptly reminds Remus that he and Sirius aren't, in fact, alone in the room, and it's that single bit of knowledge that stops him from going for his best friend's throat. His fingers are gripping the counter hard enough to crack the tiles, and his vision is tinged red as he turns to the table. Sirius is still smirking, his eyes hard.

 _Not right, that,_ a voice whispers in the back of his head. Remus ignores it.

"Watch your fucking tongue, _mate_ ," he murmurs, leaning across the table and meeting Sirius's gaze head on, arms trembling as they hold him up in a mirror of the other wizard. Sirius's eyes flicker for a moment, but he holds his ground. He leans forward further, right into Remus's face.

"What's the matter, Moony? Don't like to remember that she chose me first? Even came back for seconds, didn't she? Think she'd go for thirds?"

"Sirius Orion Black, what in the bleeding hell is _wrong_ with you?!" Dora squawks loudly, openly gaping at her cousin. Remus doesn't hang around for his answer, however. He hears her berating Sirius as he thunders up the stairs, intent on his bedroom, and Sirius's indignant and defensive tone buzzes in the very corner of his brain as he pushes open the door and closes it again behind him with a decisive click. The room is flooded with the scent of marigold.

Her surprisingly shy smile makes his heart almost wrench in his chest. God, he loves her.

"Hey, you. Give me a few minutes to get dressed and I'll be down… what's wrong?"

Hermione takes a step towards him, concern in the pinch of her brow. His vision is still tinged in red, his gut in knots, his brain screaming for her, for the feel of her naked skin on display before him, and still damp from the shower that's soaking the room in her scent. Something moves under his heart, through his mind, that terrifies him. He takes a step back.

"Remus?"

Her mouth is hot, wide with surprise when he takes it. There's a desperation urging him on, one that's as confusing and distressing as it is exhilarating, and he kisses her until he can't breathe with it. With her. Hermione seems to catch his mood after a moment or two, a soft gasp and then a whimper, and her body is pressed tight against his, her hands clutching at his hair, movements eager.

The tiny part of him that's still sane enough is telling him to stop this. To stop drinking in the noises that his best mate heard first. To stop letting Sirius push his buttons, and actually sit down and talk to the woman he loves.

Remus doesn't stop.

Hermione doesn't stop him either. Her back is against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist. Her skin is warm under his sprinting fingers. He laps at her breast, and sucks hard at her neck when she moans and her head falls to the side, and his hands shake when he makes short work his belt and shoves his trousers and underwear down enough.

Her gaze is clouded and locked on his when she takes him in hand and lines him up. Remus groans, low and guttural, and she blinks at him, then frowns a little. "Your eyes," she murmurs, sounding bewildered. "O-oh. Remus."

"Mine," Remus whispers, the word dragged from him in a way that sets his heart screaming for a whole other reason, and he pushes into her quickly, swallowing her cry. The feel of her is familiar, the heat of her stunning, and he's moving just for that.

For all of that.

It's over much too quickly. Remus's teeth are bared in something he's not even sure he can identify when he comes, lodged firmly within the woman who's running her hands gently through his hair. Her lips ghost over his forehead and his legs give out, and they're sitting on the floor, wrapped together, Remus breathing hard against her chest.

The feeling, the desperation, the _need_ , is gone. Remus squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head and listens to her racing heart. _Fuck._

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong now?"

Her voice is breath. Remus swallows hard.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, hands on her hips being careful not to clutch too hard. "You didn't… I'm sorry."

Hermione shifts, and it takes him a moment to realise she's burrowing closer. "I don't care. Please, just tell me what's wrong."

Not what Sirius said. He won't tell her what Sirius said, that a man she considers a friend thinks of her like that, even for a moment. He doesn't want to think about what Sirius said either, or how he reacted to it. He's a man, not a beast.

He's a man. Not a beast.

Remus's eyes blink open wide.

 _For fuck's sake._

"I'm going back to the packs," he says, then finds his arms abruptly empty when Hermione rears away from him as if he slapped her. Her back hits the wall and her breath leaves her in a rush, dark eyes unnaturally big in a startlingly pale face. Remus watches her carefully, rising off the floor to right his clothing and grab the blanket of the bed, handing it to her when he sits again.

This isn't a conversation for the vulnerable.

"Hermione?" he asks softly when she doesn't speak. She only stares and worry wiggles through his chest. "Did you hear me?"

"Of course I heard you," she says faintly, his question seemingly prompting her to action. Pulling the blanket tighter around herself, she gets to her feet and takes slow steps over to the bed, snatching up the clothes laid out there before turning back to him. "I need another shower. Be back soon."

She won't look at him. She's standing there, staring at the ground. Remus frowns, the worry turning hyperactive, swooping through his stomach. "Hermione, I-"

"After," she says; short, succinct, precisely to the point. Remus watches her helplessly as she hurries to the ensuite, then scowls at the door when it closes.

 _Well, this is going to go smashingly, isn't it?_ he thinks, dread a bitter taste on the back of his tongue. And much later, when night's fallen once more, and they're in bed with the chasm wide and deep between them, he stares up at the ceiling and aches to reach for her hand.

He just wants to touch her. Just one touch.

He doesn't reach, and despite clearly being as wide awake as he is, Hermione certainly doesn't offer.

~0~

It becomes normal. Remus hates how normal it becomes as the weeks pass, the split between them, the little thing off kilter that almost seems tiny at times, and other times echoes loudly through him, shaking his very being. They're still together; coupled, still a unit, but the unit has cracks, and Remus doesn't know how to patch them up. He tries many times to talk to her, to get her to understand why he has to do this – how essential it is, for the war and for his own sense of self-worth – but it always ends in him pleading and her shouting.

Or worse.

The freeze is worse. The freeze hurts.

They're two different people with two, very different points of view, and each is as stubborn as the other. Growing up alongside her has taught him that much.

Sirius watches them. Remus hasn't really spoken properly to the animagus since he talked about Hermione like she was some type of plaything, and he feels that split in ways that match the new emptiness in his relationship. There's a deliberation to Sirius, like he wants to say or do something but _doesn't_ want to at the same time, and at any other time, Remus would be amused by his very clear struggle. Would even prod it out of him. Instead, he ignores it.

He can be just as vindictive as Sirius can.

As Sirius is.

Sirius, however, takes that decision from his hands two days before Ella's and Harry's combined birthday party. Since the full moon happens to fall the day before Harry's 16th at the end of the month, the household decides to hold a joint celebration a week earlier so that Remus can attend. Molly's all for holding separate celebrations, but Harry quickly vetoes that idea, the boy not wanting to be the centre of attention.

Unable to help himself, Remus glances at Sirius and sees him frowning, and he knows that they're both thinking the same thing – they were going to make sure he got used to all the fuss that came with being in a family.

He swallows hard when he finds his eyes on Hermione.

 _Not everything goes the way you want it to._

The thought has denial surging hotly through his chest, and there are questions in the look Hermione sends him when she catches his eye. Her face flushes when he doesn't look away, her smile hesitant, and he's just beginning to smile back, hope shocking and bright, when Dumbledore walks into the room.

It's the sun burning out. Her smile is gone, her face cold. Hermione turns away, and Remus is stopped in making a panicked dash after her by a hand grabbing his arm and dragging him from the kitchen.

"What is it?" he snaps when he finds himself in the library. Adrenalin is a heady cocktail and he _knows_ that if he talks to her now, this minute, things could be better. He can get through to her _._ He _needs_ to get through to her. But Sirius is pacing, marching from one end of the room to the other in a flurry of energy that's enough to make anyone dizzy, and although they're off as well, bone-deep loyalty and a multitude of personal experience means Remus can't leave him.

How he wishes he could sometimes. Inhaling deeply, Remus pushes his own shit to the side, rests his shoulders against the wall and focuses on his best mate.

"I didn't mean it, okay?" Sirius blurts after some time, swinging around to scowl at Remus, his hands finding his hips in a way that reminds the werewolf ridiculously of Hermione. They couldn't be more different, his two companions. "You two need to stop with the prickliness and sit down and talk, because I swear I didn't mean it."

"Mean what?" Remus asks, although he has a fair idea. Sirius lets out a frustrated noise that sounds somewhat like a whine, and Remus regards him calmly as he resumes pacing, throwing agitated looks back over his shoulder.

"What I said! I didn't mean what I said about Hermione, and I won't have you two splitting because you think that I did! Why are you believing me so easily, anyway? I know we're done; we've been done for years! We never even had the chance to begin!"

Pushing himself upright, Remus runs a hand through his hair in a gesture of tiredness that's more emotional than physical. "Sirius, you do realise that more often than not, not everything's about you," he sighs, standing with legs apart and hands in his front pockets. Sirius stops and turns to look at him with a confused frown, and Remus's lips twitch.

Ever the ego, this one.

"Hermione and I are fighting, but not about your inappropriate and crass comments," he says, eyes on the animagus. "'Course she's not going back to you. She's not going anywhere, and I never considered for a second that she would. I have a lot more respect for her than that."

Sirius's face flushes and his eyes fall. "So do I," he mutters at the floor. Remus's head cocks curiously.

"Do you?"

" _Yes_!" Sirius's head snaps up and he takes a step forward. "Yes, Moony, I do, I swear it. I should never have said that. I just… I don't know what I was thinking, all right? You two are just so _together_ , one person almost in the way you act and react, and I never had that with her. Not once. Never had that with anyone. I just kinda wanted to… remind you that I'm here, too? Fuck's sake, I don't bloody know. Can't we just accept the fact that I'm a right royal prick in general and move on? Forget about it?"

Watching the energy thrumming through Sirius's body that's making him practically tremble – energy caused by distress and embarrassment and sincerity, and that hairline hitch in his head created by ancestry and 12 years in utter hell – Remus sighs again. He couldn't very well be pissed at the other man if he understood where he was coming from, could he? "You're a prick but I wouldn't call you royal," he says mildly, holding back a smile when a large grin slowly spreads across Sirius's face. "Thankfully, this family has room for pricks, I think." He rolls his eyes, but this time doesn't stop his smile when the grin becomes a smirk. "Yeah, yeah, yours is clearly the biggest and most superior, you don't need to reiterate it, Padfoot."

"Something Hermione would be the best judge of, yeah?" Sirius's wink is exaggerated, the jittery laughter dancing in the grey of his eyes fading to a pouting grumble when Remus pitches one brow, folds his arms and smirks quietly himself. "Bloody werewolves. No way to beat that. So if you aren't fighting about my prattishness, what are you fighting about, then?"

 _And there it is._

Grimacing, Remus heads for the wet bar installed at the very back of the room and protected from all those underage by a rather ingenious spell, if he says so himself. His firewhiskey doesn't turn into saltwater when he takes a sip, and Sirius drinks his quietly once handed to him, watching Remus the entire time.

The burn of the familiar alcohol doesn't fill him with its legendary courage. All it does is give him something to do with his hands.

"I'm, ah, I'm going back to the packs."

Sirius's tumbler stops halfway to his mouth and then slowly lowers. "Care to repeat that?"

"I said I'm going back to the packs," Remus says, contemplating the bottom of his glass. Glancing up, he quickly looks down again and takes another sip, finding the golden liquid exceedingly interesting. Sirius's thick silence is bloody off-putting. "Erm, that's what we're fighting about. Hermione doesn't agree."

" _Why, Remus? Why do you even think you need to do this?_ _It's suicide!"_

" _It isn't! I know what I'm doing, Hermione, and as much as we don't like it, so does Dumbledore! At least in this case!"_

" _Fuck Dumbledore!"_

Her outraged hiss echoes through his mind, and Remus takes a bigger mouthful to dull the memory, looking up again when Sirius laughs and runs a hand through his hair.

"No, I don't suppose she does. Bit stumped myself. What the fuck, Moony?!"

"There's someone who Dumbledore suspects is high up in Voldemort's ranks in the packs who I can get to," Remus explains quietly, the ice in his drink clinking against the sides of the glass. "He's who I've been after from the beginning. Taking him out could be a major victory for us, so it's an opportunity I can't say no to and still live with myself."

" _He's using you, Remus, you know he is! He's treating you like a personal weapon, taking advantage of you and your lycanthropy, and you're letting him! Why the hell are you letting him?!"_

" _Because there's more than just one objective to this mission, Hermione! There are innocents in those packs, men and woman, fucking_ children _, who never had the choice to take wolfsbane! Those people never had a choice altogether! I can give them that choice!"_

" _At the cost of your own life? Do you really think so little of yourself that you'd literally throw yourself to the goddamn wolves?!"_

" _I'd do anything to protect innocent lives! I'd do anything to protect_ you!"

" _Sweet Merlin, Remus, you sound exactly like him!"_

His heart is pounding. Remus grits his teeth and sips his whiskey, and Sirius stares at him like he's grown a second head all of a sudden. The silence simmers, much like Sirius's frustration as he fumes and mutters to himself and finally sighs. "Right, then. Of course there bloody is. But since it's no fucking use trying to convince you to give up this phenomenally idiotic idea, I will ask you this. You're going to do this by yourself? Go be a hero and get yourself killed all on your lonesome? Just like during the first war?"

"I _am_ the only werewolf in the Order, as far as I know. Be a bit hard to have a partner in this." His tone is dry, the relief at how easily Sirius's seems to have accepted the idea pulling at his limbs. His self-deprecating, half-cocked grin fades at Sirius's snarl.

"Bull fucking shit. I'll go with you."

Remus's spine snaps straight. "No you bloody well won't."

"Then you're not fucking going!"

"Yes, I am!" The only thing that stops Remus from throwing up his hands is the fact that he'd waste his drink. "Pads, you have to understand me! You had to go to the Ministry, right? You _had_ to go after Harry, to protect him? Well, I _have_ to do this. This is one thing I can do that _no one else can_. I need to keep the kids, you, everyone, _her_ , safe. This is the best and most logical way how, and it's not one I can do if you come with me!"

Sirius glowers at him in silence for a long moment, then sighs a second time and lets out a sardonic snort. "Funny how I thought being around the people you want to keep safe would be the best way to keep them safe," he mutters broodily, staring down into the liquid in his glass. He gives it a swirl and Remus grunts and throws his own back.

 _The expression in Hermione's face is lost, and utterly helpless, and so very sorrowful. "Why can't you understand that you're needed more here?" she murmurs, hand on his cheek. Remus turns his head and ghosts a kiss across her palm, his chest aching horrifically when her breath hitches, tripping out of her in painful little breaks. After a moment, she presses her lips together and draws her hand back._

 _Remus feels the loss keenly._

" _I'm sorry, Remus. I can't give you my blessing in this. I can't. This is… this is wrong. You've made the wrong decision. You're leaving and I can't make you st-stay, and I'm sorry, but I n-need to go."_

" _Hermione!"_

 _Fear makes the word explode from him. She pauses at the door._

" _I love you."_

 _Her body shudders, a single time. Remus stops his rush forward by the skin of his teeth._

" _I love you, too. I always will."_

"It's what I have to do. Why can't _you_ understand _that_?"

"Still talking to me, mate?"

When Remus lifts his head, he's met with curiosity and some concern, then sympathy and resignation when Sirius reads his expression. "Guess not. You really gotta do this?"

Remus nods. "Yes. I do."

Sirius groans, copying the werewolf and throwing the rest of his drink back before folding himself down onto the closest chair, his empty glass swinging between all ten fingers. "Fine. Do it. But fucking come back, would you?"

Remus smiles and walks over to clap Sirius on the shoulder. "That's the plan, my friend. That's the plan."

~0~

"So you and mum are fighting, huh?"

Looking up from the book he's reading, Remus frowns a little and sits forward. It's the evening of the celebration and the house is awash with Order members, multiple scents, and noise. "Ella," he says, surprised to see her. "You should be at the party."

"So should you," the young witch points out, wandering over to the sofa Remus has taken refuge on. Having turned 14 at the end of the school year the month before, Remus is a little startled to see how much more of her mother is in the girl – more than her father, it seems. She still has Sirius's eyes and always will, but the tilt of her chin and her steamroll stride contrasting her coltish, still growing limbs has the past playing through his mind. There's so much of the Hermione who was his best friend in everything she did in hers and Sirius's daughter, that for a moment, his heart hurts.

He misses her. All of what she is to him.

"It's just a bit too loud for me at the moment," he says, closing the book and sitting it on the arm next to him. Ella perches herself on the end of the cushion, sleeves of her pretty blue cardigan hanging over her hands. "Moon's soon."

"Oh," Ella says, her brow furrowing, as if she's just now figured out exactly how real the moon and its effects are to Remus. "All right. Would you like a cup of tea?"

She pulls her cardigan down further over her fingers, the movement of her thumbnail along the inside of the material a nervous gesture Remus is sure is unconscious on her part. His smile is gentle.

"No, thank you, I've just finished one. But here, you'll want to have this, won't you?"

The present has been waiting in the library since he had the idea for it, and Ella's brows rise in surprise when he hands her an object wrapped in plain brown wax paper. "You didn't need to get me anything," she says, staring at the present. If Remus isn't mistaken, there's a hint of colour in her cheeks.

"I know I didn't. Open it?"

Blinking a couple of times, Ella looks up and grins brightly before tearing the wrapping to shreds and making Remus chuckle under his breath. Sirius always did the same. She comes to a halt when she sees what's inside, her eyes going wide. "Oh, wow."

"It belonged to my mother," Remus explains, opening the old, well-worn cover of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ and flicking through a few pages _._ "My father bought it for her when I was young, and she used to read it to me as a way to downplay my lycanthropy; make it normal, so to speak. I've written a bit in it, notes and such, and since Hagrid says you seem to quite enjoy Care of Magical Creatures, I thought you might get a kick out of it."

His stomach sinks in disappointment when she doesn't say anything, and he sits back. "You don't like it. Sorry, it was a silly idea."

"No, I love it," she says, finally looking up. Her face holds more than a hint of colour now; flushed with pleasure or embarrassment, Remus can't tell. "This is wonderful. Thank you. But won't you miss it?"

Remus shakes his head, relief stronger than he's expecting. "It's just sitting on the shelf growing mildew. I'd rather it go to someone who'll benefit from it." Patting the pages fondly, he smiles at the memories the scent of the old parchment produces. "So would my mum. She encouraged curiosity and hated when perfectly good knowledge went to waste. She always used to say that knowledge was meant to be known, not hidden away."

"Sounds like my mum," Ella mutters quietly, turning pages. Her touch is careful as she smooths her palm cover the cracks in the cover. "Speaking of which, you never answered my question. What are you and mum fighting about?"

The directness of her question amuses Remus more than surprises him. "Nothing you need to worry about," he says, his amusement growing when her eyes narrow.

Definitely her mother's daughter.

"Actually, I do think it's something I need to worry about, because mum was happy – really happy – and now she's not. You want to be around for the foreseeable future, right? Around us- her, I mean?"

 _Yes!_

"Very much so," he says. Ella nods.

"So you need to fix this. I can help you fix it, but I can't do that if I'm kept out of the loop. What's going on?"

Remus grimaces. "It's not that simple," he sighs, hiding another smile at her indignant scoff. "It's really isn't. I have something I need to do, and your mother doesn't think I should be doing it. A case of differing opinions isn't so easy to resolve."

The young witch's nose scrunches up. "That's it? Really? Now that's a bloody pot-kettle situation if I ever heard one," she mutters, glaring down at the book in her lap and making Remus frown in confusion. He leans forward and taps the faded red of the cover to get her attention.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, it doesn't matter," she says, waving her hand in dismissal. Remus's brows pull down but he lets it go. "You can't just talk about it?"

 _Oh, to be that young._ "We are, lass. All the time. Try not to worry, all right? Everything will turn out fine, you'll see."

Ella frowns down at the book and shrugs one shoulder. "I hope so," she says quietly, picking at a stray thread on the sleeve of her cardigan with her thumb and not looking at him. "I kind of want you to stick around, too."

Delight has a way of fizzing through the mind until it's all you can think about. Remus's smile is gradual, his throat tight enough that he has to clear it before he can speak. "I'm glad to hear that," he says, voice rough. Ella looks up and grins at him, and then his senses are bombarded by daffodils and Darjeeling tea when she abruptly throws her arms around his neck and hugs him hard, and he's staggered to realise, much too briefly.

"Thank you for the book, Remus," she says into his shoulder, then lets him go. "Are you going to come back to the party or stay here?"

"Um. Soon."

"All right. I'll make sure to save you some cake!" she chirps, spinning on her heels and skipping from the room, her new book under her arm and her skirt fluttering around her knees. Remus stares after her, his face flushed, his heart utterly bamboozled.

Well that's a bloody kick, isn't it?


	19. Like His Reparation

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** I do not now, will forever not then, own anything resembling Harry Potter-like status.

 **A/N –** Hey there! Quick update because I was inspired (thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for the nominations, peeps, this year's nominations and last year's nominations and wins because I totally forgot to thank people then, and whoa this is going to be a long sentence) and because I like this chapter. Especially the end. ;) Hehe! Enjoy!

 _Well that's a bloody kick, isn't it?_

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen: Like His Reparation**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

She drives him insane. The distance between them drives him insane, and it's all he can do not to beg more than he already has. He has some pride, a lot more building as time creeps forward, humiliation soon setting in at even the thought of it. But sometimes the need for her touch, the need for the comfort of her smile, the sharpness of her mind and tongue, it overrides his ego. It dissolves it.

But only sometimes.

A step back, a word swallowed, a memory of the blunt stamp of her condemnation, and they're further from each other than before. He sees the moments she almost crosses the void, he prays for those moments to stretch and spread and fold around him to become an offer; a truce. He's frantic for truce. But she can't see past it any more than he can, and those moments dissolve, too, from her eyes: the offer retracted.

If there ever was an offer in the first place.

It hurts. Remus can't think of any way better to describe it, because it hurts more than anything has in the past. The hope and the loss of it is painful, her withdrawn proximity stabs into his head and his heart, and he knows after a month of it that he can't continue sleeping in the same bed with her next to him. There's intimacy in that act, and more and more he needs their physical distance to match the mental and emotional distance. He _needs_ it.

He feels like Harry and Sirius and Ella are the last shiny bright buckle, keeping him in line.

Dumbledore's approach when it comes, much too early, is almost a relief. He speaks to him privately at the end of an Order meeting, and Remus's head is whirling when he takes his leave. The next day. He's leaving the very next day, long before the kids go back to school. According to Dumbledore, it may take a while to find the packs, and he needs to spend the next full moon on his own, to prepare himself.

Remus doesn't admit, even to himself, that even though Sirius and Hermione are there with him, at that point it feels like he's alone on the moons anyway.

He tells Sirius first. Padfoot rages a bit, working himself up about the dangerousness of the mission; the _unfairness_ of it. He abruptly quiets when Remus reminds him tiredly that nothing in life is fair, really, and they sit for a while in silence, side by side.

"This is fucking bullshit," Sirius mutters, glowering down at his fidgeting fingers. "You shouldn't be doing this alone."

"I'll be fine," Remus says, lifting his head and regarding his closest friend. "Pads, you need to stay together, okay?"

Sirius frowns and looks up as well, catching Remus's eye. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Remus says softly, and the way Sirius's expression ripples says that he does. His shoulders roll, his legs stretch out and fold back in again, and his breath shakes, much like his hand as he drags it through his hair.

"Moony, I… f-fuck."

"Just for a short while," Remus says, leaning forward and dipping his head to look Sirius directly in the eyes again. The smoke of Sirius's gaze is stark and terrified. "Just while I'm gone. Can you do that, mate? M'sorry, I know I shouldn't be asking, but I need to know they're safe. That they'll be safe, all of them, you included. Can you keep them safe, Padfoot?"

Sirius groans and covers his face with his hands. "Fuck you, Remus." Then, after a lengthy moment of silence that fairly balloons with fear and distress and tension, his hands fall.

He looks like he's aged ten years. Remus hates himself.

"I'll try," he says, and that's all Remus needs. His arms are around Sirius, Padfoot's hands clutching the wool of his cardigan at his back, his forehead on Remus's chest, teeth bared.

"You better fucking come home, arsehole. I'm coming after you if you don't."

The promise is hissed angrily. Remus smiles.

~0~

All movement from Hermione suspends completely when he tells her, and Harry and Ella, that evening after dinner. He tries to find the time to tell her by herself during the day, to disclose such important and terrible information to her in absolute privacy, but he's ashamed to admit that he's glad the forces of a house packed to the rafters are against him. He's a coward for not facing her in private, but then he's a coward about a lot of things.

He doesn't want to see her face. He doesn't want to hear her voice.

He doesn't want to see her walking away from him.

"What do you mean, you're leaving tomorrow?" Harry asks, frowning at him. Ella's face is almost as still as her mother's is, only the frustration she can't hide in her eyes giving away what she's feeling. Harry's frown grows more pronounced when Remus explains further, his brows sunk in bewilderment.

"But won't that be dangerous?" he asks, and Remus's head snaps around when Hermione's chair scrapes backwards loudly. Her face is pale, her eyes on fire. She looks at him, stands up, then leaves the room without saying a word.

Remus is on his feet a second later, only hesitating when he remembers the children.

"Go, I've got this," Sirius murmurs. Remus throws him a look of gratitude and leaves the kitchen, following her scent up to their bedroom. She's standing at the dark window, staring out and cupping her elbows, back slightly bent.

She looks so fragile.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, just loud enough for her to hear. A sound escapes her that tears at Remus's chest, and then she's wrapped around him like they're one person.

"Don't go," Hermione mutters, breath warm in the empty V of his shirt. "Remus, please, don't go."

He lifts her chin and looks into her eyes and knows that he would give up his life for her in a heartbeat. "I h-have to. I'm so s-sorry. I have to."

They make love that night with a desperation that alarms Remus as much as it strengthens him. He swallows her cries and swallows her climax, and kisses away the tears on her cheeks, holding her close as their bodies cool. Soon, however, reality intrudes, and he's sitting on the end of the bed in only his trousers, staring at the wall when he asks the question that's been plaguing him from the moment he first told her he was going.

"Will you be around when I get back?"

 _Please don't leave me._

She doesn't say anything. Remus's eyes burn in time with his gut. Getting up, he grabs the rest of his clothes and leaves the room, spending the night hours awake and outside, sitting against the side of the house and watching the stars until they fade when morning cracks its way across the sky. The small sack of possessions he's taking with him is packed and ready, the portkey Dumbledore left with him in his hand and only a few minutes away from activating. Remus hugs Ella, still a bit bewildered at the way his heart warms at her sad and happy smile, then Harry, then lets out a weak laugh when Sirius bounds over and nearly knocks him off his feet with the force of his embrace.

"What am I supposed to do with this lot, Moony? They'll be wild hellions by the time you get back if you leave it up to me."

Still chuckling, Remus hugs him tight. "Keep them safe. And maybe teach?"

"Teach?" Sirius pulls back, looking puzzled. He shakes his head when Remus raises an eyebrow and nods. "Mate, I ain't no professor. I can't teach a damn thing."

"Sure you can. We're at war, Pads. Think of this is a way to arm them as best we can."

"Fuck's sake." Sirius scrubs his hands over his face. "You're right. Okay. Damn it all. We'll see how it goes."

Remus nods again, then grunts in surprise when Sirius jerks him forward a second time. "Don't make me come after you," he warns finally, letting him go again and stepping back, swiping roughly at his eyes. "Bloody hell, mate, be careful, yeah?"

"'Course," Remus says, smiling wanly and patting his shoulder before drawing in a deep breath. She still hasn't said anything and Remus makes himself look at her as the minutes tick down.

Nothing.

Pain blooms. He closes his eyes and grips the gold galleon tight. "See you when I get back."

"Remus!"

His eyes fly open and she's sobbing against his chest, babbling that yes, of course she'll be there and that she loves him so much, and that if he even thinks of getting himself hurt, even a little bit, she'll kill him and the person who hurt him in a very dreadful, _very_ painful manner. Remus laughs and cries and then laughs some more, kissing her nose and her cheeks and lips over and over, muffling her words, his hands in her hair.

"I have to go," he says, the relief coursing through him so sharp, it's nearly agonizing. "Hermione, I have to go."

"I love you," she says, smiling anxiously up at him with wet, hesitant eyes and puffy, splotchy cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I'm such a bitch."

"You're my bitch," Remus says, grinning when she lets out a watery laugh. He takes her hand and rests it on his cheek, turning his face to press gentle kisses to her palm, only pushing her away when the portkey begins to glow. "I have to go."

"Come back to me," Hermione says, stepping back. With seconds to spare, Remus snags her waist and drags her against him, kissing her until she's whimpering into his mouth, legs tangled with his. She blinks dazedly when he lets her go, making him smirk in satisfaction.

"Count on it," he says. Then the portkey goes off and Remus is gone, leaving everyone in the world who means anything to him alone behind him.

~0~

Contradicting Dumbledore to the extreme, it takes less time than ever to find the packs. Remus isn't sure whether that's because there's more of them, all grouped together for survival and companionship, or because their leader just won't let them hide anymore. Both, probably, he concludes when he thinks about it. There's only really one way Dumbledore could've found out the packs were active, and that was for the alpha to show himself and his underlings enough to pop up on his radar.

Whoever the alpha is, Remus is in two minds about his mission. On the one hand, he wants to get it over and done with, so that he can go back to his family safe and whole, and go about making sure they are and stay safe and whole as well. But on the other – and this is a much smaller other that slowly becoming just as important, he realises as the days pass and he sees more and more evidence of the carnage the packs are leaving in their wake – he wants to take his time. He's terrified to his bones about losing himself to the wildness of a second nature forced upon him against his will, but if he doesn't concentrate and focus all his energy on that very part of his nature, he won't be able to help anyone.

The innocents within the packs – and there are sure to be _many_ of those – or the bigger picture.

With enough wolfsbane to last him six months and no guarantee that he'll find a way to take it safely and secretly, he travels across the Continent and finds the packs two days after the full moon – two days before the new school year begins. Remus isn't sure why the date matters more to him now, but he can't seem to get it out of his head.

Harry and Ella will be going back to school soon.

The thought gnaws at him. He trusts Dumbledore to keep Harry alive, if only because he needs a saviour, but that's all he trusts him to do. He doesn't _want_ Harry or Ella anywhere near the old man, but he _needs_ them to be close to him – Dumbledore will keep them safe. If they can't stay close to family – and they can't, not really, he knows that – the headmaster of Hogwarts is the next thing.

Not the best thing. Only the next.

It's a two-sided coin, constantly flipping from one side to the other. A war of want and need. He wishes the kids could live an ordinary life, so that these types of things didn't have to be an issue.

He wishes they could just be kids. Not toy soldiers.

Not chess pieces.

The guilt he feels about seeing them as chess pieces himself sees him through his first unbearably lonely transformation and September 1st, and he isn't sure if he likes the fact that it gradually fades in the face of _wild_ that is the werewolf packs. They _have_ grown. He already knows that. The first time he infiltrated all those years ago – if that's what you could call what he did, which wasn't much – they'd been small enough to be considered just one pack. Single. Now more than ever it's _plural_ , and that plural is _vicious._

It appals and worries Remus terribly. Why isn't the ministry at least _trying_ to do something to stop the horrifying number of attacks and killings that are just as bad, if not more, than they were in the first war?

But he can't fucking do anything either, can he? Melissa sits on his heart and condemns him.

Perhaps it's his lot in life to constantly fall short of the women who've only ever stood tall and supported him at his side.

It's Christmas before he starts making any headway within the hierarchy. Treated as a lowly minion when he first arrives, he, like in the past, has to fight his way in, and maybe it's because of the wolfsbane that he's somehow having very little trouble taking, disguised in the most stomach shredding gut rot he's ever tasted – he isn't quite able to _be_ that viciousness, to pretend completely, no matter how hard he tries – but he ends up a nurse.

That's what they call it. He and the couple of others aren't healers or mediwizards. They're _nurses_ , a degrading title within the packs; muggle, _human._ It's degrading to be one, just as it's degrading to have to go to one, but what they also are is needed.

Wounds get treated now. That's very different from years ago.

It only makes the guilt and worry grow.

He's doing his job when the game changes. There's a ruckus, a scuffle and a stirring, and he looks up from applying a poultice to a nasty gash on a woman's leg to see more of those lowly minions walking into camp, dragging a body behind them. This isn't any different from what's a twice weekly occurrence – death is still prevalent within the packs, even with the nurses around. What _is_ different, however, is the size of the body.

And the fact that the body isn't dead.

He's tiny. Remus gawks down at the young boy when he gets dropped in front of him, the wolf doing the dropping snarling and ordering him to clean the whelp up. The youngest he's seen since he joined the packs is a teenage girl just on the cusp of adulthood, so it's a shock to see the horrific amount of youth in the patient before him; youth that seeps, terrified, into clear blue eyes when they blink open briefly and stare at him.

"What happened to him?" he croaks, crouching down and then cringing back when the wolf deliveryman snarls again, louder this time. The boy's scent is lemons and sunshine and it doesn't suit the pile of broken childhood lying on the ground in front of him.

"The fuck you think, shit stain? 'e survived. Make sure 'e lives now, or Jasper'll have your nutsack as a breakfast treat, won't 'e?"

"Fuck Jasper," Remus mutters, doing his best to be gentle as he runs his hands over the boy, looking for obvious wounds. His clothes are in tatters, dirt and dried blood streaking visible skin. He thinks his hair might be blond if it were clean.

The quick and snappy blow to the head sends Remus reeling, taking him by surprise when it shouldn't have. He slowly picks himself back up again and sits for a moment, trying to clear the black spots in his vision and stop his stomach from launching itself up his throat. "Keep that mouth open, mutt, you never know what might get stuffed in there," the wolf leers, his chuckle wet, broken teeth on full display. "Fix the kid, then bring 'im to Jasper."

He's gone, leaving only the sickening scent of rotten meat – his own personal scent or a product of his nature, Remus isn't entirely sure – and a whimpering, feebly moving child behind him. Once he's sure he isn't going to pass out, he shuffles over to the boy and searches for the source of blood that _isn't_ dry. Because there's some there that isn't. Quiet a lot of it, actually.

When he finds it, his heart stops.

 _He survived._

Remus turns his head and vomits into the dirt.

~0~

The boy's name is Timothy. Timothy Ashton-Hart and he's nine years old. With the help of the other nurses and some secret and very draining wandless healing spells – his wand is disillusioned and charmed between shoulder blades with a sticking charm just this side of permanent, only available in an absolute emergency – the bite on his thigh heals incredibly slowly, his entire leg wrapped in bandages that grow filthy much too quickly. Remus manages to get his first name out of him before the fever sucks away his consciousness, but it's two weeks before any extra information is coherent enough to be understandable.

"Where's my mum?"

It's whispered, breathy and fearful, with just a hint of hope. Remus swallows heavily and tells him the truth, and young Timothy Ashton-Hart falls apart, weeping brokenly like he'll never stop.

It's the first and last time Remus sees him cry.

In the time leading up to the next full moon, Remus fends off constant demands from Jasper-the-Beta, a man he hates with every fibre of his being, and tries to prepare Timothy for his first transformation. It's hard, because he has to be a wolf in human skin as much as possible, uninfluenced Moony in everyday life, so he can't be seen getting too involved. He fights with himself daily over whether he should give the boy some of his supply of wolfsbane, and utterly loathes himself when logic rears its ugly head and ends up winning the hand.

It's too dangerous. Jasper is overly interesting in the boy and Remus doesn't know why, and because Remus _can't_ just abandon a traumatised nine-year-old to his own devices, he's overly interested in Remus, too. There's only a couple of familiar faces from years previous in the packs, so Remus stands somewhat of a chance of climbing the hierarchy ladder further – _if_ he's careful.

Timothy is a complication he hadn't been expecting.

Watching pre-moon symptoms show up in the boy brings back hazy and painful memories of his time as a child inflicted with this curse. Timothy's eyes wreck Remus. The distress and confusion scream from them, made worse by the fact that he seems incapable of crying, or even showing any outward emotion at all, and Remus has nightmares of his own distress and confusion; his constant need to comfort his sobbing mother; his steadily growing disgust and self-hatred. He wakes often with a shout of terror dying in his chest, and it's then that he itches and aches for the scent of marigold; for her fingers wrapped around his.

For his name on her lips.

He misses her something _awful._

He misses them all.

"Where are we going?" Timothy asks in his far too calm voice the day of the full moon. A command has filtered down through the ranks and the sniping and growling humans are moving, lumbering through the trees, following the order to an unknown destination. Remus shakes his head and urges him on, inwardly pleased that he asked in the first place. It's a struggle to get the boy to speak at all some days, so Remus is happy with whatever he can get.

He acts like he's twenty years older than he is. It isn't healthy.

Then again, seeing your entire family get slaughtered in front of you isn't considered healthy either.

They follow the rest of the pack members into a clearing, the sun high in the sky. The packs are restless, Jasper having riled them up over the past week more than usual. He's promising something new, something different, something _fun_ ; and honour, he calls it. Remus is highly suspicious of this so called 'honour' and keeps Timothy behind him as much as he can.

"My brothers and sisters, the moon is near!" Jasper calls once everyone has gathered, grinning his insanely gleeful grin at the shouts and bellows he receives in return. Remus hooks his hand around Timothy's shoulder and watches closely, senses on high alert. Different is very bad when you don't know how different it's going to be. "Tonight is a special night! Tonight, we transform in the presence of the one who's going to elevate us to our rightful place in society! Tonight, we transform in the presence of _royalty_!"

The roar of approval is deafening. Shock scrapes its lengthy nails at Remus's insides, his face draining of colour, fingers twitching on Timothy's shoulder and around his wand as if it were in his hand.

 _He's_ coming?

 _Why?_

"Tonight, we celebrate what we are in the presence of the man who urges us to always embrace what we are! Tonight, we are beast through and through, because tonight we run with the Alpha!"

He almost doesn't hear the crack of apparition over the crowd's hollering and hooting, but Remus does see them pull back to form a circle, and he does see the more-wolf-than-man appear beside a howling, crazy-eyed Jasper. With coarse yellow hair, facial features more lupine than human, and amber eyes that practically glow, the newcomer holds the attention of every wolf there, throwing off power and command as easily as breathing, a nasty undertone as obvious as the clearly permanent fangs he shows when he bares his teeth in a snarl.

Despite all this, however, it's not him that Remus finds himself focusing his attention on.

It's the heavy gold locket with the glittery green, snake-like 'S' inlaid on the front, hanging around the alpha's neck.


	20. Like His Aspiration

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, or Remus Lupin, or any other of Jo's characters. I do own Elizabeth 'Ella' Granger, Timothy Ashton-Hart, and Jasper.

 **A/N – CONTENT WARNING:** Themes of child abuse and molestation are hinted at in this chapter. Nothing is stated outright, but it is there, so I wanted to warn for it. Violence and character death come up as well, so please do take care if you're sensitive to any of that.

 _It's the heavy gold locket with the glittery green, snake-like 'S' inlaid on the front, hanging around the alpha's neck._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty: Like His Aspiration**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

He wishes she was there as the crowd surrounding him roars its violence to the skies. He wishes she was there, standing at his back; holding his hand. He wishes it was her instead of a young, terrified boy about to go through even more mind-shattering trauma, and he wishes he was with her, far away from the pain and fear and panic only heightened by the riot about to begin.

About to? It's already begun.

Remus wets his lips and deliberates rapidly between inching closer to the alpha and the locket he can't pull his attention from hanging around his neck, and inching himself and Timothy as far away from what's happening as possible. He knows he can't leave. He can't get the boy away from this danger, because the danger will follow them – the danger's inside them. But shouldn't he put distance between them and what's going to make the danger worse?

That locket, though… there's something about that locket. He can smell it, surrounding the metal, a dark and terrible hum that's oozing across his senses; something so _wrong_ , he can't put a word to the scent. Remus has never not been able to do that, and a sickness rises in his throat, vomit heavy, denial and revulsion heavier. This is _Dark_ magic, whatever this is. As Dark as it possibly can get.

He doesn't know what's wrong with that locket. Something is.

He needs to find out more. It's this thought that has him ultimately deciding to get as close to the thing as he can. He can't trust Timothy to anyone else within the packs and he can't leave him on his own. The boy'll has to come with him.

It makes the nausea thicker, a solid lining around his heart, that he has to subject a child to this. That he doesn't have a choice. But none of them have a choice, do they? Whether willing or unwilling – and there's a _lot_ more willing to embrace the sickness inside them than there is unwilling – this is what they are.

He can't destroy the darkness in his soul. But maybe, if he figures out what the locket is and why the aura it gives off drips through the atmosphere like greasy, glugging oil, tainting everything it touches, he might just be able to destroy that.

It's something, isn't it?

He doesn't get a chance, however, to justify it enough with himself that he can make his legs move, because Jasper snaps his hand up into the air and growls loudly, shutting down the crowd as if a switch had been flicked. The man-monster with the taint around his neck smiles to himself, his fangs flirting with his bottom lip, then steps forward when Jasper steps back with a grandly gestured wave of his arm.

The crowd is so silent you can hear the anticipation-packed tension like it's sound.

"My brothers and sisters, I greet you most warmly," he says, his voice low and deep and very smooth, completely at odds with his appearance. It carries across the clearing as easily as if he's shouting, and a frisson of panic or hope or _something_ runs down Remus's spine. His eyes narrow.

He knows who this man is; it's impossible not to know. He's the alpha. He's the target. He's the one Remus needs to capture if he wants to complete his mission and return home to his loved ones. He's been the goal all along, even if the goal hadn't always been known to him. But there's something else; something that's brushing light fingers at the back of his mind, almost shyly, as if teasing him. Something he should know. Something he should _remember._

Who is this man?

"I have heard a great many things about this pack, and the leaps and strides it has taken to elevate our rank within the magical community," the man continues, voice still smooth and almost sultry. Remus swallows hard and presses Timothy solidly against his back. He wishes he could cover the boy's ears. "You, my friends, are pushing us higher. You're extending our importance and the respect we deserve within the eyes of our world's future. You are _making_ our future, and you are the example that we all need to follow. I applaud you. I applaud you all!"

He smiles and nods when the crowd roars again, his hands behind his back, his body language casual and loose. The taint around his neck shines in the dying light of the day, and Jasper hangs around him like an eager puppy, tail wagging and eyes insane. The very fact that Remus can't sense any obvious madness within this leader's amber gaze sends more shivering somethings down his spine. He presses his lips together and hunches down, folds in, gripping Timothy tighter when the boy whimpers.

He can feel it. The moon. Remus can feel it. They all can. It's coming and the change will be horrific.

Another whimper floats from the boy behind him. The crowd screams their excitement.

The alpha's still smiling.

"We will build our own future, turn this world into our own safe haven. To do that we must create and protect the next generation. We must nurture them; show them the way. Tonight is the first night of many. Tonight, my pack, we teach!"

Remus's head snaps up. _That's_ why he's here?

"Bring me the boy!"

 _No!_

But there isn't anything he can do about it, and the crowd parts, hands grabbing at Timothy, the boy crying out in fear and pain. Remus snarls and swipes at the hands, and picks Timothy up, clutching him to his chest. There isn't anything he can do about it, _there isn't anything he can do about it,_ and he hates himself, he fucking _despises_ himself, and he's at the alpha's side, his bundle struggling as he slowly lowers him to his feet in jerky, unwilling movements.

 _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, fuck, I'm so sorry, fuck, FUCK!_

"Remus, please, I wanna go home!"

" _Remus_?"

It's the intrigue in his voice that has Remus looking. Timothy has his face against his hips, arms wrapped around his thigh, and Remus finds himself staring into bright, bold yellow eyes, the alpha's head cocked to the side as said eyes sweep over him. A hand captures Remus's chin and turns it from side to side before he manages to jerk it away. The alpha's lips twitch. He leans in closer and licks his lips.

 _Ash._ He smells like ash.

"Well, hello, cub. Isn't this a surprise."

He purrs it, the scent of ash seemingly winding through the words, and a whole _world_ explodes open in the back of Remus's head. Memories he's resisted, repressed, _forgotten about,_ flood him mind's eye, and the shock is icy, the terror and revulsion encompassing.

The knowledge crippling.

This is what made him; _he_ is what made him.

And more.

The childhood bite itches. A young, green-eyed boy weeps under creeping hands in his memory.

 _Greyback._

"Jasper!" the monster who made Remus a monster himself calls, his smile wide, "you did not tell me you'd converted my cub! Why didn't you tell me this?"

"Your cub, Alpha?"

Greyback inclines his head, his fingers fluttering up to stroke the locket. His eyes are still locked with Remus's. "Yes, Jasper, my cub. This one here, Lupin. He is mine. You didn't know that?"

"U-um, no, Alpha, I d-didn't."

"Hmm." Without looking away from Remus, Greyback reaches out and takes Timothy's shoulder, long, sharp nails digging in hard. "That is disappointing. And here I thought you'd planned on giving me two gifts tonight. No matter. Let us take a look at the one thing you did do correctly."

Remus can't do anything but stare dully as Greyback drags a gone-silent-with-fear Timothy over to him. His brain seemed to have stopped, his thoughts having fled, leaving an emotionless void behind that doesn't allow for any type of reaction at all. His lips are dry, his chest is empty, and his arms stay by his side when Greyback smiles a slow, suggestive smile and strokes the locket again, before finally breaking eye contact to give his attention to Timothy.

Remus has trouble remembering what comes after. He knows that Greyback talks, and he knows that the crowd answers, and he knows that Timothy needs him, the boy's fear and panic hovering at the edge of the shell of nothingness. But he can't help him. He can't do anything.

He can't.

There's nothing inside him.

He remembers Timothy screaming his throat raw when the moon peaks. He doesn't remember the change. He's wolf with the rest and the tiny cub splits his soul, provoking the only reaction he feels the entire night. The pack runs with the alpha and the blood is hot and red and plentiful, and Remus goes through the motions, neither werewolf nor man in werewolf skin.

Lost.

The sun comes up and he's man again, and he takes a blank-gazed, covered-in-blood Timothy and flees.

~0~

It's the way the next few months run. The alpha stays with them, the tainted locket always around his neck, his gaze always on Remus and the cub he lets Remus look after. He doesn't approach him, doesn't speak even a word to him, but he watches, and he smiles, and it gives Remus nightmares so violent, he forces himself to stay awake.

Remus doesn't know who he is, if he even is, within those months. He exists.

He survives.

He takes the wolfsbane and drinks. And survives.

He doesn't know what gets him thinking again. Perhaps it's Timothy, a skeletal waif who now never speaks, big eyes sunk into his skull and utterly vacant. Perhaps it's the way the other wolves begin to notice the taint, too, and whisper about it, about how much they've begun to want it. Perhaps it's the patch of marigolds he comes across one day, the pungent scent such a jarring dose of home that it makes him shake. Whatever it is, it gives him enough of Remus back again that he starts to plan.

He needs to know what that locket is. Which means somehow getting close to Greyback. Which is the last thing he wants to do. But he doesn't have a choice.

He needs to know what that locket is.

It's that thought that sustains him. His plans piece together and break apart, never forming fully. He hangs around Greyback, which the alpha enjoys, and he doesn't know what he's actually drawn to. The locket makes something terrible tremble deep in his gut, but so does Greyback, and he know that if he doesn't do something soon, _anything_ …

He doesn't know. But it'll be bad.

"Such a loyal wee cub," Greyback murmurs one evening, sitting at a table in a deserted inn, stroking Timothy's hair and looking at Remus with half-lidded eyes. The plates of food rattle and bang together as the terrified innkeeper brings out their meal in shaking arms, and Remus feels Greyback's stroke in his tone; along his skin. He swallows. "I could do with a lot more loyal cubs like this one. Don't you agree, Jasper?"

"Y-yes, Alpha," Jasper stutters, crouched at Greyback's feet. The beta has been jittery and whiney and simpering since the alpha decided not to leave, the wolf-man practically humping Greyback's leg every chance he gets. Remus finds it disgusting and simply refuses to see it as anything else. "W-we could. I'll bring you them! I w-will!"

Greyback purses his lips in thought. Remus looks away. "No, I don't think you will. I think my _own_ cub would be very good at that. I think it's Remus's job."

Jasper looks scandalised. "B-but, Alpha, _I'm_ your beta, I-"

"Enough." Timothy shifts on Greyback's lap when his hair is pulled. Jasper shuts up, his eyes downcast, ugliness in the pull of his mouth. "You will do this for me, Remus? You will bring me more loyal cubs?"

Remus knows what's being asked of him. What he's being ordered to do. His brain floats and flutters with the knowledge. He runs his tongue over his teeth and nods jerkily.

"Yes, Alpha."

"Good." Greyback smiles that slow, pleased smile, petting Timothy's hair again, and Remus wants to run.

He's rooted to the spot.

"Soon."

"Yes, Alpha."

 _Soon_. It whispers across his skin, another unwanted touch. Remus doesn't sleep that night. He's not sure how he's ended up so close to the beast who destroyed him and put him back together again as a child. He doesn't know how to get himself or Timothy out of this. This wasn't the plan. He lies on floor of the room in the inn he's sharing with a boy who only sleeps because his body shuts down on him, and wonders what the fuck he's gotten himself into. How did this happen?

What is he going to do now?

He's barely thought the question when the door slams open and there's a body on top of his, a loud, demented snarl ringing through the room. Jasper claws at his face and does his best to do as much damage as possible, and taken by surprise, Remus's reaction is slow. He bucks up and starts fighting back eventually, but not before Jasper manages to capture him in a bone-crushing hold, pinning Remus's arms down and digging his hands into his back. Remus growls and howls and snaps his teeth at Jasper's face, trying to get his feet up and into the other man's kidneys.

The attempts fail. Jasper grins widely at him.

"I'm going to kill you," he says pleasantly, foul breath blowing across Remus's face. Remus struggles harder, trying in vain to evict the man off of him. "He's mine, not yours. _I'm_ the beta. Not you. You're nothing."

He leans in and opens his mouth wide, yellow teeth gleaming in the moonlight coming from the window behind them. "You're _dead._ "

His head swoops down and his teeth sink into Remus's neck, a shout escaping both of them when something rams hard into Jasper's side. His teeth rip at Remus's skin as he's knocked off him, the spell that holds Remus's wand in place collapsing when Jasper scrambles desperately at his back for an anchor. His wand comes away in Jasper's hand, and both Remus and the beta stare at it stupidly, Timothy scurrying away from the two adults and sprinting for the door as if his life depends on it.

It does.

"You _traitor_!" Jasper screeches, eyes dilated with madness. " _I'll kill you_!" He jumps to his feet and draws the wand aloft, and Remus lunges towards him but doesn't get there in time. Jasper shouts and a bright, burning heat erupts from the tip of Remus's wand, a serpent of uncontrollable wildfire streaking into the room. Remus stares up at it in horror.

 _Ah, fuck me._

Taking advantage to the way Jasper's watching what he's created with far too much fascination, Remus snatches his wand out of the other man's hand. "You really are a stupid fuck," he croaks before turning and hurtling towards the door, ignoring both the blood that's running steadily down his neck and the giggling werewolf behind him. He has to find Timothy and get them the hell out, before the fiendfyre reduces the inn to a load of burnt rubble.

If that.

He's on the ground floor, shouting Timothy's name over and over, when he's attacked again, this time from behind. He knows who it is instantly, the ashy scent distinct even amongst the scent of heat and burning wood. The roar of the fiendfyre and the crackle of what it's gleefully destroying stoppers up his ears, and he can't hear what Greyback is snarling at him. But he can feel the pain and the fear and the taint and the heat – sweet Merlin, the _heat_ – he needs to get _out._ He struggles and snarls and bucks and swipes, and crashes Greyback through a burning table, and howls as the wood goes through his leg, punching at the alpha's face, bone meeting bone. He slams Greyback's head back once, twice. A third time.

A fourth time.

 _He needs to get out!_

The tail of the serpent sweeps across them and suddenly he can hear again, because the taint is _screaming._ Remus doesn't think. He snatches the locket from Greyback's neck, burning his hand and breaking the chain, and throws it as hard as he can, directly into the belly of the serpent. The screaming becomes glass-shatteringly high-pitched, the decibel horrendous, making Remus surge back to slap his hands over his ear and screw up his face in pain.

Then, it stops.

The fire doesn't.

" _Timothy_!" Remus screams. Greyback laughs quietly under him. Remus looks down.

"We're all dead, you realise. I very much enjoyed our time together, cub."

For the first time, Remus detects the barest hint of insanity in those forever lupine eyes. He shuts down the memories trying to cloud his mind and bares his teeth in a feral grin.

"Fuck you," he whispers, then slams Greyback's head back a final time, so hard he hears something crunch. Greyback's eyes roll in his head and Remus pushes himself to his feet.

"You're dead. Not me."

Then he's running, using his senses to hone in on the scent of lemons and sunshine, finally finding the boy in a ball on the ground outside the blazing inferno, rocking gently. He whimpers when Remus picks him up and wraps his arms and legs around his waist and neck, and the sound gives Remus a tiny burst of hope. It's more noise than Timothy's made in months.

"Hold on tight, yeah? We're getting the hell out of here."

Remus can't think about the owner of the inn, perished inside along with her business, or if that those in the pack that deserved to made it out. They didn't. All he can do is turn on the spot and disappear with a _crack_ , apparating and disapparating a number of times before he and Timothy arrive at his home and the Order's safehouse. He's to-the-bone exhausted when he arrives, and Timothy seems to have passed out, the young one silent and still in his arms. He hasn't let go, however. Remus hitches him up higher and walks into the house, so tired he's surprised he hasn't passed out himself.

He knows that the house is empty the instant he walks over the threshold.

There's only one reason for that. They'd discussed it. Remus sighs and turns on the spot for the umpteenth time, leaving behind what he thought would his final, badly needed destination.

~0~

The village is deserted when they pop into existence in the main street. The silence is unnatural, eerie even, and Remus holds Timothy close, the boy regaining consciousness and whimpering in his arms, his face hidden in Remus's bloody neck. Remus shushes him quietly before turning to stride down the street, eyes peeled and wand in hand. He just hopes that she's there.

She is. The door creaks open barely a centimetre or two, and Remus stares calmly at the hand that's holding a wand pointed at his throat. "Rosmerta, it's Remus," he says softly, hitching his bundle higher. "I mean you no harm."

The door opens a touch wider, and Remus sends the woman he hadn't seen since Ella's first year a strained smile.

"Blimey, Remus, what the bloody hell are you doing here?!" Rosmerta hisses, peering over his shoulder, eye wild, as if the devil was on his tale. Or one of his minions. "It isn't safe! Get your arse insi- why are you covered in blood?! You're carrying a child!"

"I need your help," Remus says, scurrying inside and rubbing Timothy's back when he hunches closer at the solid snick of the door closing. "I'm sorry to barge in on you like this, but I think I'm needed at the castle and I can't take him with me. Will you look after him? Keep him safe?"

The innkeeper circles Remus cautiously, the dim light from a single candle on the wall dancing shadows across her face. She looks over the boy in Remus's arms and purses her lips. "What's wrong with the chit?"

"Trauma," Remus says, raising his eyebrows in a significant manner. "The kind of trauma that's hard to come back from."

Rosmerta's face softens immediately. "Oh, the poor lad," she sighs, clucking her tongue. "Yes, of course, I'll take care of him. Bring him upstairs but do it as quietly as possible. We don't want to alert anyone that we don't want alerted."

"There's Death Eaters in the village?" Remus asks in a whisper, following the witch up the stairs. Rosmerta shakes her head but doesn't answer beyond that, and they've entered what can only be her own personal quarters before she speaks again.

"Lay him down in the bed over there. That's it. No, the village is clear, but there's sure as shite something going on up at that castle. You can feel it in the air. Reminds me of yonks ago, remember? Lots have fled to greener pastures for a bit because of it. Bloody hell, Remus, you look like you've been in a battle!"

 _I have_ , Remus thinks, casting a quick cleansing charm over Timothy's filthy clothes and lifting the blankets up to his chin. The boy's eyes droop as soon as the warmth envelopes him, and he's soon breathing deeply. Pushing his hair gently back out of his face, Remus hopes the healing ability of sleep soothes him a little.

He prays that the terrors of the night don't come for the youngster.

"I'm fine," he says, holding up his hands and stepping back when Rosemerta frowns and draws her wand. "I don't have time for that, I really am fine. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"But there's so much blood, Remus, are those _burns_? You need to be treated!"

Her protest is cut off, however, by the green glow that's abruptly bathing the room. Remus's stomach flips and then sinks to his toes when he rushes to the window and looks out.

The Dark Mark.

He needs to go.

"His name is Timothy, keep him safe," he says, and then he's apparating again, nearly splinching himself in his haste.

~0~

He appears in another kind of hell.

Hogwarts is home. It always has been. It was the first place to give him sanctuary, a proper, magically protected environment; a first tiny hint of acceptance. Now, Remus stares up at the castle, eyes big as his head rings with sound and light and heat and _terror_ from the battle taking place within the first place that'd been a truly loving, accepting home. A screams rips through the air and his legs are moving without forethought, his wand gripped tightly in a blackened palm that hasn't stopped shaking for what feels like hours.

More than hours. Years.

Eons.

He's through the gates, Hogwarts's main door slamming open violently as he sprints across the grounds – a spell on his lips and the Death Eater is down. The sights and scents and sounds are worse within the castle, making his eyes wheel and his heart slam extra hard. He has to find her – he has to find all of them. He takes out the enemy as he moves through the old school, curse after curse, most coming so quickly that they end up wordless, and searches.

And searches more.

He refuses to let the fear cripple him.

He's been crippled enough.

Where is she?

"Remus!"

His body spins and he squints through the dust and debris, forcing himself not to concentrate on the bodies lying on the floor at his feet. The scent of blood is thick, almost obliterating the other horrifying scents trying to bombard his senses – charred flesh and fire roaring through his mind – and Remus swallows heavily, relief making him dizzy when Arthur and Ron Weasley appear next to him. Both Weasleys look worse for wear, clothes torn and streaked with dried blood. Arthur has a large, still oozing cut above his left eyebrow.

But both are alive.

It calms his sprinting heart a little.

"Hermione," he gasps, then screws his eyes shut and shakes his head. Sweat is chilling as it slides down his neck and under his collar. "Harry?"

"I don't know where Hermione is, but Harry's on his way to the headmaster's office," Arthur pants, wiping his sleeve across his forehead, then quickly jerking his son away of a streak of nasty-looking, mustard-coloured light. Ron lets out a sound and clicks his teeth together, rolling his shoulders. Arthur glowers at him. "Tried to stop the lad but got caught up in fighting. Only just managed to stop this one."

"Didn't need you to stop me, did I?" Ron mutters petulantly, blue eyes burning within the chalkiness of his features. He looks decades older than his handful of not-nearly-enough years should allow him. "What're we standing around for?! We need to go help Harry!"

"We need to get you kids out of here alive and safe!" Arthur barks back, his fist tightening around the back of Ron's jumper. Remus presses his lips together hard, jolting when Arthur sends a jinx hurtling over his shoulder.

He needs to think.

"Why is he going after Dumbledore?" he asks Ron, trying to make his mind move as quickly as possible. There are so many holes in his knowledge, it's frightening. A shadow looms in his peripheral vision and he reacts instinctively, slashing a curse at the Death Eater before turning back to his former student. For a moment, Ron looks impressed.

"He isn't," the boy answers, throwing his own defensive spells almost as fluidly as his father is. At any other time, Remus would've been equally as impressed. "He's going after Malfoy."

 _Malfoy?_

"And likely Snape, since the bat seems to be everywhere the ferret is these days. Seems to think he needs to protect the git."

 _Protect who? Protect Malfoy?_

 _Protect Snape?!_

He doesn't know what's going on and it's frustrating as hell. But he does know, deep in his gut, exactly what to do. The decision that isn't really a decision at all is painful in the making. Remus snarls low, under his breath.

He has to trust that she can take care of herself.

With his chest so tight he can hardly drag air in, he looks at Arthur.

He wishes he knew where Sirius was. He could use his best mate at his back for this.

"I need your help."

~0~

Because Arthur refuses to let the only offspring he can actually protect out of his sight, a very enthusiastic Ron ends up coming along, and the three of them fight their way through the school towards Dumbledore's office. The gargoyle isn't blocking the entrance when they arrive, and Remus can hear shouting up above them. He exchanges a wary glance with Arthur and they quietly climb the staircase, a practically vibrating teenager trying to rush up the stairs between them.

The boy's loyal to his best friend. Remus likes him all the more for it.

He catches Harry's scent, sweet, pungent earth, and Dumbledore's, ozone in a strike of lightning's wake, and the hemlock and old shoes that is Snape. There's other scents there, too; lemon oil and pine needles, and something like spoiled magic with a sharp, vinegary overtone standing out. Remus recognises the first but doesn't the second, and it isn't until he hears the distinctive cackling laughter, insane and far too eager, that he realises what they're up against.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

 _Well. This is going to be fun._

A flick of his wand and the three of them are disillusioned. Remus moves through the doorway, registering the two silently watching Death Eaters at the back of the room but mainly taking in Bellatrix, who is flitting around like she's got electricity in her veins. She's laughing and giggling, high-pitched, and egging Draco Malfoy on, who stands with his shaking wand pointed directly at Dumbledore, in place, a solid tree rooting in the ground, in front of his desk. Snape is standing at Draco's side, and Harry is…

Harry's in Snape's too-fucking-hard grip. Remus's eyes narrow on how tightly he's squeezing Harry's upper arm. He swallows his displeased growl.

"Coooooome onnnn, little dragon! Dooooo it! Kill the old man and fulfil your purpose! Rid the world of Dumblebumbleskin and earn your rightful plaaaaace!"

Bellatrix croons the words. Something like a choked sob escapes Malfoy. His wand shakes so badly, Remus thinks he's going to drop it.

"Draco, you don't have to do this!"

"I fucking d-do!" Malfoy snarls, the last word breaking as he says it, and Remus's brows reach his hairline. He watches Harry struggle in Snape's hold, sees the desperation in his eyes. His own eyes flick to Ron.

The pained, slightly exasperated expression on the redhead's face tells him all he needs to know.

"You _don't_ , we can help you-"

" _Silence!_ " Snape hisses, giving Harry a forceful shake, making his head snap back and forth, and it's only Arthur reaching over and clamping his hand down on his shoulder that stops Remus lunging forward. The anger bubbles and snaps and rages in his belly, needing to sink its teeth into the back of Snape's neck.

The fucker who's hurting his cub.

"Yes, close your trap, bitty baby four-eyes! You've lost your way; the Dark Lord rules the roost now!"

"Severus…"

"Be quiet, both of you!" the potions master snaps loudly. Remus creeps around the edge of the group as Bellatrix cackles madly and Dumbledore holds up both his good and his bad hand in surrender, the look on his face somehow both calm and imploring at the same time. There are books spread across his desk haphazardly, an inkwell on its side, the dark pool inching towards crumpled bits of parchment as if in the middle of a sneak attack. A quill snapped raggedly in half catches Remus's eye, but his attention is quickly drawn back to the main four occupants of the room.

"Draaaaaaco, oh Draaaaaaaaco, stop pussyfooting around and _kill_ the bastard!" Lestrange warbles, sliding up to her nephew and pushing her face right in close to his. The sound of Malfoy swallowing can be heard even over her incessant giggling. "Do as you're commanded _right now_! Be free, little dragon!"

"Mr Malfoy, you know that you do not have this within you," Dumbledore murmurs, now looking directly at his student. It seems to be the wrong thing to say, however, because Draco's face twists in disgust and his hold on his wand tightens to the point that it stops shaking. Remus exchanges another glance with Arthur, who nods his head in Bellatrix's direction. Remus frowns for a moment, then after a bit of internal debate, reluctantly nods back and begins to circle around to her side, watching out of the corner of his eye as Arthur pushes Ron behind him and inches his way towards Snape and Harry.

They need to take Bellatrix by surprise. And since Arthur isn't likely to leave his son on his own, there's a much higher chance of something going wrong if two people are trying to go after her, especially if one of them has a split focus. If Remus can get right next to Lestrange without alerting her, he can quickly take her out and then turn his attention to the witch and wizard at the back of the room. Arthur and Dumbledore can take care of Malfoy.

Speaking of Dumbledore, why isn't he armed? Where is his wand?

"Don't pretend that you know me, old man," Draco sneers, grey eyes glittering with something that looks a lot like hatred. "I have a job to do! I don't have a choice!"

"Draco, you _do_!"

"Severus, please," Dumbledore pleads, turning to Snape all of a sudden. Remus lifts his wand and meets Arthur's eyes a final time, who's standing in between Snape and Draco, jaw lined with determination. Ron has his wand on the two at the back, clearly defying his father instructions to stay by his side, and both his wand and Arthur's lift just as Snape opens his mouth to reply.

What happens next Remus will remember for the rest of his life. A curse is on the tip of his tongue, but his attention is diverted when the young Malfoy laughs, his cheeks wet and his face bone white. He's still laughing as he looks at Harry, sobs breaking through what should have been an expression of joy. Their eyes meet and Draco shakes his head.

"I don't have a choice," he whispers hoarsely, baring his teeth and pulling his wand back.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

"NO!" Harry shouts and rips himself away from Snape, diving forward to intercept the curse heading straight for the headmaster.

Remus's heart stops dead in his chest.

Then rattles hollowly and breaks apart, splitting in two as horror paralyses him, when Arthur dives forward himself and tosses Harry out of the way, the surge of sickly green light meant for Albus Dumbledore catching him directly between his shoulder blades and felling him in an instant.


	21. Like His Vitality

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** I no own.

 **A/N –** Only a handful more chapters to go, peeps! I won't state a number, because, knowing me and my muse, it won't be correct lol. But we're very close to the end! _Very_ close! :D

 _Then rattles hollowly and breaks apart, splitting in two as horror paralyses him, when Arthur dives forward himself and tosses Harry out of the way, the surge of sickly green light meant for Albus Dumbledore catching him directly between his shoulder blades and felling him in an instant._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-one: Like His Vitality**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

The world drops out from under him, the ground trembling beneath his feet as Arthur's body falls. For a split second, he gawks, and for a split second, it doesn't seem real. It _can't_ be real. Can't possibly. But then Arthur's staring blankly at nothing, neck twisted, glazed, empty eyes in a lifeless, empty body, and there's a sound – a little gasp, a slight whine of denial – Remus wishes he couldn't hear coming from Arthur Weasley's son.

The dead man's son, who just watched the dead man die.

He's dead.

Arthur's dead.

The silence is so thick, it's a fog.

It is real.

"Dad?" Ron Weasley whispers into the fog, and all hell breaks loose. The killing curse hitting Arthur is as effective at removing the disillusionment as _finite_ is, his body becoming visible the instant the curse hits. Lestrange screeches and then does cast the general counter-curse, making both Ron and Remus visible to the room as well, which has the two Death Eaters at the back of the room rushing forward, their wands raised. Dumbledore is looking at Arthur's body with an expression somewhere between forlorn and resigned, and Snape looks like he's swallowed a lemon as his wand that just cast an Unforgivable lowers, the sour look quickly replaced by a rage that echoes Bellatrix's second, louder, screech of fury.

"Thrice-damned _fool_!" he snarls, grabbing Draco's arm in a punishing grip as the first curse firing shakes Remus from his stupor and sends him rushing towards Harry and Ron, defensive and attacking spell tripping from his tongue without any thought. "Go! We must go!"

"But… you killed him…"

" _Go_!" Snape hisses, dragging the chalky-white Malfoy heir towards the door. Remus spares them a single glance before deciding to let them go. He can barely breathe from the crackling ozone left in the wake of four wands continuously firing, and he _needs_ to get to the boys. He needs to get them _out._

He won't have another dead body on his hands.

"Harry!" he shouts, throwing up a shield just in time. Ron's still standing, unmoving, staring at his father's body, and Harry's by his side, defending them both and looking panicked. Remus inches his way towards them, sensing the spell heading directly for his back and twisting out of the way with hardly a second to spare, his concentration interrupted by Snape's voice abruptly booming through the castle.

"RETREAT."

Bellatrix cackles. "Got the rodent!" she shrieks, firing spell after spell at Remus and backing towards the entrance to the stairwell, her two panting and injured fellows doing the same. "The rodent's dead! You'll be next!" She cackles again and kicks out at Arthur's body, smashing her foot right into his jaw. Remus hears it crack.

He sees it crack through Ron.

It's as if he's come back to life, animated again with shock and horror and grief and _madness._ He's broken, and he's furious, and he's moving, running, _sprinting_ towards the stairs, bellowing at the top of his lungs. Harry shouts after him but Ron doesn't listen – or doesn't hear – and Remus has to change not only direction, but strategy.

There's vengeance in Ron's eyes. Vengeance doesn't think.

He should know.

Heavy sorrow has him casting a status charm, and then he's running after two teenage boys, one with the aim to kill. The castle is awash with confusion as he pelts after Harry and Ron, the latter still screaming, all three of them ignoring the chaos of a fleeing enemy and the scrambling witches and wizards who'd been fighting them moments before. He can hear Bellatrix's insane laughter; it seems to float on a non-existent wind, fluttering around them and fuelling Ron, and that's all he concentrates on – getting to the boy before he does the unthinkable.

That is, until Dumbledore steps into the fray.

Remus hadn't even seen him leave his office. He hadn't thought of the old man, the original target of Snape's Avada, too caught up in getting to and protecting Harry and Ron. He bullets down the staircase and tumbles into the Entrance Hall after the two boys, his eyes widening when he sees Dumbledore standing calmly, his arms folded in his opposite sleeves, next to Hogwarts's wide open main doors.

Snape's wand is once more on him.

"Move!" the Potions Master snaps. Dumbledore shakes his head.

"You have a job to do."

"My job is done," Snape replies, sounding as he's suffering from lockjaw. Remus has a split second to wonder what the hell they're on about, and why Snape thinks Dumbledore is in the way in the first place, before Ron roars something incomprehensible, tears streaming down his cheeks, and pulls his wand back.

A spell shoots from the tip before either Harry or Remus can stop him.

Everything freezes. It's another universe-trembling moment as the spell hits the wall and blasts it apart with a shockingly loud _boom_ , stones crumbling and falling, collapsing in a heap on top of an unsuspecting Dumbledore and not getting anywhere near Snape, as he's somehow managed to jerk himself and a silent and still unnaturally pale Draco out of the way in time. Within the bubble of scattered time – as short as a breath but as long as the moon dominating the sky – Remus gapes at the place the headmaster used to be standing.

Now there's just a mess of concrete, and a single, blackened hand, sticking out of the rubble.

Someone screams.

" _Move_!" Snape barks. He's running, Draco right behind him, and Remus isn't entirely sure why he's running after them. He can't think. But he does know that Ron's weeping, the sound piercing through the exclamations of denial and the overload of panic, and some little bit of logic veers Remus's brain off course. He loosens his hold on the end of his wand and slows himself down to a stop in the middle of the grounds.

Just in time to catch Ron as the boy tries to hurtle past him.

"No!"

"It isn't worth it," Remus murmurs, arms wrapped tightly around the redhead, who's tall and lanky and not that much of a boy anymore. Would never be a boy again. There's a thunder of running footsteps behind them, multiple voices shouting, and he throws up a shield without thinking when a spell shoots in their direction. "Don't let this change who you are, son."

"I'm not your son!" Ron moans in a tone broken, dripping with helplessness and fury and endless, endless mourning. He claws at Remus's arms, kicking out with his feet, bucking and lunging. "I'm not anyone's son!"

"You are your mother's son. You're Molly's son. You are Arthur Weasley's son. Make your father proud. Don't do this, lad. Please."

Ron shakes. And then drops, all fight seeping from him. People run past them while Remus sinks to the ground and cradles Ron in his arms, rocking him as he lets out high-pitched wounded-animal noises that are somehow so low Remus is positive only he'd be able to hear them. His cheek resting on top of Ron's head, Remus watches the Death Eaters disappear, still throwing spells over their shoulders. He watches Snape step over Hogwarts's boundaries, and he watches him twist on the spot, Draco still firmly in his grasp.

He watches the rebounding curse hit him directly in the centre of his chest.

In many ways it's as shocking as Arthur's had been. The spell isn't a passive spell; it's a body-wrecking curse with rips through Snape's sternum as easily as a hot knife through butter, and Snape's face flickers with a mild sort of surprise as the front of his robes turn into a gory mess. His head turns as if directed by force towards Draco, who's staring in blatant horror at his Head of House, and his mouth opens to speak.

Remus doesn't find out what Snape was going to say, because Snape doesn't get a chance to say it. Instead, a wet, gurgling type of sound emerges.

And then Severus Snape dies.

He topples over, face-first. Draco jerks himself away from the falling body in a desperate, wild movement, almost tripping over his own feet in his effort to get away. He's still staring, panic slowly carving its way across his face.

Suddenly, his head lifts. Remus's eyes flick to the right, where Harry's crouching next to him, his hand on Ron's shoulder.

His eyes locked with Draco's.

"Don't," Harry mutters, and as if he'd heard the single word, impossible across the distance separating them, the panic vanishes and Draco's face hardens. They stare at each other for a long moment, and then Draco lifts his chin, takes another step back and twists on the spot.

Harry's face twists as well as the crack of disapparition rents the air, his breath leaving him in a rush. He swallows, fills his lungs again, then turns to Remus and Ron, something a little like heartbreak in his eyes.

Remus doesn't know whether that's over Draco, or the very much broken Ron he's still cradling in his arms.

Somehow, he thinks as they're quickly surrounded by people and shouting, grasping hands and worried voices, it doesn't really matter.

~0~

Arthur's funeral is indescribable. Remus struggles to remember a lot of it, just as he struggles to remember the days leading up to it. The last of the Death Eaters had fled the school in the moments following Snape's death, and with the end of the battle and the need to protect, aid and comfort, so too did Remus's fight.

It's as if he can't be normal. He just can't find it in himself to be human, a normal, living and breathing, everyday person, the months upon months of being a wolf roaming through his brain and doing their best to drive out his humanity. The adrenaline is gone, making him tired, showing him how completely lost he is; showing him that he _wants_ to be lost.

There's no defence against the memories now.

It's the scents that keep him from giving in to the urge to let it all go and embrace the animal. To just run. Earth is there, as is daffodils and Darjeeling tea. Leather, spice and coal dust never seems to leave him alone. Lemons and sunshine make him breathe, even as they bring tears to his eyes – a small hand in his, a hollow silence much like his own.

Too much like his own.

But it's the marigold that does the most. It surrounds him constantly, her voice a murmur in his ears. Her arms around him, her lips on his forehead. She never, not ever once, lets go of his hand.

Not once.

She's clutching it particularly tight at the funeral. The Weasleys have fallen apart in the wake of Arthur's death. Molly hasn't stopped crying, her tears scenting the air along with multiple others. She doesn't make a sound as she cries, however, something that's leaked down to her stern-faced and trembling children.

They're too hard.

They're all too hard.

Especially Ron.

Death has its own scent. That scent sinks into Remus's skin as he sits in the hard little chair in the Burrow's backyard, everything at the edges of his vision blurred. Death has an oily tinge to it, thick and glugging, that's trying to seep its way inside him.

That's partially succeeding, it seems.

He stares at Arthur's coffin, at Molly crying while not making a sound, at the boyhood forever destroyed in her youngest son.

At the dry, red eyes and white knuckles of her only daughter.

And wakes up.

He's not dead.

 _He's_ not.

Enough of this.

"Remus?" Hermione whispers as he gets to his feet. They're sitting at the very back of the ceremony, right at the end of the row, and as such he's able to rise without causing too much disturbance. A polyjuiced Sirius lifts a ginger brow in question when Remus pulls Hermione up next to him, the witch rising hurriedly in response to the urgent way he tugs at her arm. He starts to get to his feet as well, then hesitates, his eyes going to Harry sitting at the front, next to his silently cold and unemotional best mate.

Ron hasn't spoken a single word since the battle ended. Not one.

"It's all right, I've got it," she says quietly, waving him back down. Sirius hesitates for a moment more and then nods, settling back down again, looking extremely odd as a distant Weasley relative. Remus tugs at Hermione's hand again, and the two of them quickly walk away from the scene of sorrow and death, Remus nearly running.

He's alive.

So is she.

"Remus, what's wrong?" the love of his life ask as they round the corner of the Burrow and head for Arthur's shed, the door creaking loudly as Remus pushes it open. He pulls Hermione inside and kicks the door closed with his foot, the lights coming on automatically to show a jumble of mismatched muggle artefacts and junk, some in pieces, clearly in the process of being taken apart. There's a different kind of oily scent in the air this time, and Remus gulps the smell down, pulling grease and oil and marigold deep into his lungs.

Filling his head up with the scent of life.

He's _alive._

So is she.

He's kissing her without being aware of moving. Her lips give under his in surprise, the rapidness of his move making her take a step back, and Remus follows that step with more of his own, until he's crowded her back against the junk-strewn bench. His hands are cupping the sides of her face and his head is turning, and he's slanting his mouth over hers, prying her lips open and darting his tongue inside.

He's alive.

He's _alive._

So is she.

He tastes victory the moment Hermione kisses him back. She lets out a little sound of wonder and thirst and wraps her arms around his neck, pushing up against him, her mouth opening wider in eager invitation. Remus takes that invitation and runs with it, his hands falling to her waist to pull up her shirt and waistcoat, fingers rough and impatient for the feel of her skin.

It's warm. It's home. Remus runs his fingertips up her back, drinking in the mews she lets out when he digs his nails in. He kisses her again and again and runs his hands around onto her stomach, only abandoning the addictiveness of her skin to push her clothes up further.

He needs all that warmth in his hands. Right now.

"Take it off," Hermione murmurs against his mouth, pulling away to push at his shoulders, her eyes dark and deep and slumberous, her lips swollen. She bites her bottom lip and peers at him through her lashes, leaning back against the bench a little. Remus groans and hardens to the point of uncomfortableness at the look in those enigmatic eyes. "Take it off. Touch me."

She takes his hands and makes him take handfuls of her clothing, guiding his wrists so that her waistcoat slowly slides up her body. "I need you to touch me," she whispers, leaning in close to him again and hovering her lips over his ear. "Remus, please, _touch_ me."

All oxygen vanishes. Her waistcoat is gone, her shirt soon following, and Hermione laughs at the way his hands scramble to undo her bra and remove that as well. Her laughter dies, however, the instant he cups her breasts and thumbs her nipples, her breath hitching, her head falling back.

Exposing her neck.

The arch of his throat is everything he's ever needed and more.

He's drowning in the taste of her pulse. It thumps under his lips, under his teeth, and the last of the blurriness evaporates as he uses his hands and his mouth to make the woman he loves moan. To make her cry out as he sucks on her pulse point, his blood roaring as he spins her around and crowds her into the bench once more, one arm around her waist to protect her from the bite of the edge of the wood, the other still playing with and tugging at a nipple. He pulls at her pulse, sucking her skin into his mouth, and pushes his erection against her skirt-covered arse, making them both groan.

"Is this… enough?" he pants into the curve of her shoulder, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and repeatedly bucking his hips. "Am I touching you enough? Do you want… _fuck._ Do you want more?"

"Yes!" Hermione whimpers, pushing back rapidly against his thrusts. "Fuck, Remus, fuck yes, please! _Please!"_

Remus's grin is feral. "Shall I fuck you then, Hermione? Right here, right now?"

"If you _don't,_ Remus Lupin, I'm going to lop your bloody prick off and feed it to Crookshanks for breakfast!"

She growls the threat. Remus chuckles. "Hmm, tasty," he whispers, then pulls them both away from the bench just enough, dropping his hands to yank her skirt up and her knickers down. He brushes his fingers along her wet sex, the animal he still is rumbling at the way she jerks and moans and widens her stance, then attacks the fastening of his slacks.

Once he's released himself, he takes her in hand again, her naked back to the wool of his sweater, and presses her lips to the top of her spine.

"Ready?" he whispers. Hermione's nod is swift.

"Yes, yes, just fuck me, please, Remus, I need you please."

So breathy. Remus growls deep in his throat, wraps an arm her neck, the other back again around her waist, and with a single thrust, sheaves himself inside her. Hermione's gasp turns into a whine, her throat moving against his forearm as she swallows. The whine cuts off, jumping in octave and force as he withdraws and drives back in, Remus grunting and setting a pace that has the sound of skin slapping rapidly against skin ringing through the shed.

He's home.

This is life.

He's _alive._

 _So is she._

"I love you," he groans and sinks his teeth into the muscle of her shoulder. Hermione lets out a choked cry, her hand wrapped around the back of his head pulling sharply at his hair, the other busy between her legs, and her orgasm take him by surprise, her body tightening like a bow and clamping down hard around his cock. Remus lets out a hiss through his teeth as does his best to guide her through the spasms rattling through her body, before laying the abruptly limp front of her down on the bench.

Gripping her hips, he takes what he needs.

It doesn't take long. She hot and slick and her neck is sweaty, her hair damp and curling wildly, and she's _his._ He snarls and slams in, stilling and coming with a force that has him seeing stars, emptying his very soul inside of her.

It feels like that, anyway.

Her hair's tickling his nose. Remus snuffs at it, mouthing along the back of her neck, where her scent is strong. Hermione sighs under him, wiggling her shoulders.

Breathing in her scent a final time, he presses one more gentle kiss to her skin, and then reluctantly moves.

Turning her head, her eyes are sleepy as she blinks at him.

"That was unexpected."

"Yeah," Remus answers quietly. The curl falling over her cheek draws his hand. She smiles at him when he tucks it back behind her ear. "Wanna get dressed again? I don't think anybody'll come in but we don't want to take any chances."

Hermione snorts softly. "Didn't seem to care about that when you were cheerfully hiking up my skirt," she groans, lifting herself off the bench and almost falling when her feet touch the floor. Remus steadies her, grinning to himself a little when she blows out a breath and pushes her hair back out of her face, before quickly casting a cleaning charm on them both and sorting her clothes on her bottom half back into their correct places. "Where's my bra?"

Zipping and buttoning himself back up, Remus scoops up the offending garment – how did it manage get all the way under the bench and nearly out the other side? – and hands it to her. She smiles at him in thanks, and Remus watches her get dressed in silence, suddenly awkward. Her smile flickers a second time once done, a curious cock of her head following.

The familiar action throws years of memories through his head.

Not knowing what else to do, Remus stands with his hands in his pockets and watches Hermione watch him. He watches her searching his eyes, those flickers of smiles blooming across her face slowly; cautiously. He watches her approach him on careful feet.

His eyes close of their own accord when her palm comes to rest on his cheek.

"Hello, my love. Welcome home."

 _Ah, fuck me._

She squeaks when his arms vice around her, laughing softly and borrowing in close.

"I'm sorry," Remus mutters some time later, his chin on the top of her head. He darts a look towards the wall of the shed when he hears the murmur of voices coming closer, then releases a quiet breath when the voices head into the house instead of heading towards them. The ceremony must be over. "I shouldn't have… it's a lot. I need to talk to you about a lot. It was too much and I couldn't… I was hiding. M'sorry."

"Hey." Hermione's hands rub up and down his arms as she steps back and takes his hands in hers, bringing his wrists up to whisper a kiss to the inside of each. Her eyes are earnest, her grip steady and strong. "You have nothing to apologize for. Not to me. I love you, no matter what. Understand?"

His heart slams. _Please don't ever change your mind._

"Remus?"

"Yeah, all right," he says. "We should go in. The wake's about to begin."

"Remus."

He sighs and sends an arm-folding Hermione a wry smile. "I'm fine, love, truly. I just want to get this over with. Dumbledore will want a debriefing and…" trailing off, he grimaces and runs a hand through his hair. " _Moody_ will want a debriefing. Damn it."

"That man deserves everything he's getting," Hermione mutters, walking over to wrap her arm around his waist. "Come on, then. Let's go continue celebrating life, yeah?"

The playful look in her eyes reminds that she can read his mind far too well. "Yes, let's," Remus agrees, shaking his head and barely holding his smile back. The smile escapes his control, however, when she smirks at him, leans up on her toes and kisses him on the cheek.

The woman's a menace.

He loves it.

~0~

"Where have you two been?" Sirius asks Hermione when they walk into the living room. The Burrow is packed to the rafters with funeral attendees, the mood remarkably cheerful considering that this isn't their first funeral – nor will it be the last. The Weasley family isn't around, as they'd accompanied their patriarch to the cemetery. Remus knows that a number of others had wanted to go as well, but Molly's great-aunt had insisted it be family only.

Merlin knows that Molly hadn't been in the right frame of mind to contradict her.

"Oh, just living," Hermione answers, grinning cheekily. She yelps in surprise when Remus elbows her in the ribs. "What? It's true, isn't it?"

"Hush your mouth," he says, once again hiding his smile. Hermione laughs and winds her fingers through his.

"Moony, you're back?"

Looking over at Sirius, Ella and Harry sitting quietly and watching everything with eyes too old to match their numerical ages next to him, Remus shrugs. "I guess? I never really went anywhere."

"The hell you didn't," Sirius states flatly. Remus blinks a little at the tone and focuses all of his attention on the man.

Sirius looks exactly like his name tells people he is. Serious. He's looking at Remus with knowledge in his gaze – past experience that speaks of things he'd rather forget. There isn't any pity there, just a quiet empathy Remus had forgotten he was capable of, and a level of compassion people tended to overlook.

His best mate included.

Remus winces. He really needs to start giving Sirius more credit. How was he supposed to heal along with everyone else when the people he interacted with on a daily basis treated him as if he'd left his mind behind in Azkaban when he'd escaped?

"Yes, well, the destination wasn't all that exciting. Sorry, mate. Right here's much better."

Sirius grins. "'Course it bloody is, you tosser," he says, getting up and throwing an arm around Remus's shoulder, the werewolf desperately trying to push him away when he plants a sloppy, smacking kiss on the side of his jaw. Getting kissed by a strange redhead is not something he wants to repeat. "Still, getting away sometimes does do the mind some good. Just remember that we're all here waiting for you when you get back."

Remus coughs a little and clears his throat. Yes, he _really_ needs to give Sirius more credit.

"Love you, Padfoot."

Sirius blinks, and then laughs, reaching over to ruffle a flushing Remus's hair. "Love you, too, Moonbeam!"

"Sirius, for Christ's sake, how many times do I have to tell you? Stop trying to steal my man! Go get your own if you want one that badly!"

There's laughter from multiple sources around them. Hermione squeezes Remus's hand as she chuckles, and he squeezes hers back gratefully, feeling ridiculously relieved and a lot more at peace with himself than he expected to feel.

Human.

He feels human.

The realisation has a grin spreading across his face that doesn't fade until the door opens and the Weasleys trek into the room. The camaraderie drops into dead silence for a moment, and then slowly picks up again as the family spreads out and makes their way to different parts of the house, stopping to speak to people briefly before moving on. Remus watches with interest, sharing a look with Hermione and Sirius when a sombre-looking Bill and Fleur stop at their side.

"We're having an extra little get-together after the wake's over if you'd care to hang around," Bill tells them calmly, single earring swinging when he turns his head to include everyone in the conversation. He's clutching his fiancée's hand tightly, her arm twined through his, and there's nothing in his tone to indicate that he's speaking in riddles.

Still, the riddle is solved.

"Of course," Hermione says. Bill nods and moves on, and the three adults share another look. Sirius's hand finds Harry's shoulder, the boy's worried eyes on Ron, who's leaning against the far wall, staring at nothing. He looks like he's going to pass out from sleep deprivation any moment.

It's a timely reminded that they couldn't escape it. Remus squeezes Hermione's hand once more, pulling her over until he's able to wrap his arms around her and snuggle her back against his chest. No matter how much easiness and laughter lightens their world, they still have a war to fight.

To _win._

It's something he really prefers they do very soon.


	22. Like His Blood

**Stages**

 **Disclaimer:** No owny!

 **A/N –** Heeeeeeey, guys! Hello! Sorry this took so long! Hopefully the chapter makes up for the wait! :D

 _No matter how much easiness and laughter lightens their world, they still have a war to fight. To_ _win._ _It's something he really prefers they do very soon._

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-two: Like His Blood**

* * *

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

Her hand lends him comfort as they wait for the last of the funeral attendees to leave. Anticipation hangs in the air like smoke, a thing almost touchable; a taste in the back of his throat. He gulps the vinegar down with every swallow, eyes on the door, counting every open and close, every whispered final condolence to the Weasleys lined up next to it in a stern and solemn line.

She lends him comfort with her hand in his, but she doesn't stop the way his leg vibrates with the tension in the room – something he isn't aware of happening until her other hand is warm against it, cupping his knee with gentle pressure.

It's all he can do not to pull her into his lap. There is talking to be done, explaining to be handed out. He needs to take part in that. Maybe not to the entire Order, but to her and Sirius certainly. He swallows again at the thought of it, his lips dry.

His breath just starting to race makes it impossible to keep them moistened.

He knows he needs to talk. To tell them what happened while he was away. He needs to get it out, to purge the dark thoughts and memories, to fill them in because they're his family, the ones he loves, and they need to know.

But he doesn't want to.

He doesn't _want_ to.

He doesn't want to think about it.

 _Coward._

How is he supposed to help Timothy if he can't even face it himself?

The hand on his knee squeezes. Remus wets his lips and sends Hermione a distracted smile, his hold on her hand tightening when the door closes for the final time and the members of the Order look to the Weasleys as one.

For a long moment the silence is oppressive. Then, with her children pressed in by her side – a single unit, a _wall_ , Remus can't help but think – Molly's chin rises.

It's a startling comparison to the way the rest of her body trembles.

"Thank you for st-staying," she begins, having to stop and clear her throat twice before she can continue. "You didn't have to, but I'm grateful you did. The first thing I need to do is apologise."

Surprise has Remus sitting forward. Next to him, Sirius's brows shoot up.

"You don't need to say sorry for anything, Molly," Kingsley says, his voice a deep and calming rumble. He gets up and takes her by the hand, leading her over to the sofa. Tonks and Hestia immediately get up to allow her to sit. "Your only job here is to grieve, love. Nothing more."

The smile Molly sends Kingsley is weak, her sigh audible as she sinks back against the cushions. Her family surrounds her once more; a wall with shaky but determined foundations. Remus wonders which is stronger – the determination or the undeniable tremor that's licking quietly at their defences. Molly has lost an unhealthy amount of weight in a shockingly short amount of time, and the rest of the family…

Rough around the edges doesn't begin to cover it.

"I wish that were true," Molly says, taking Bill's hand and squeezing it hard enough to whiten her knuckles. She sits forward and straightens her spine, and pride zings down Remus's back. He smiles. "It's unfortunate that it isn't. Recent events have brought things to light that I've been ignoring. That has to end, for the good of everyone in this room."

Her hair tickles her chin when she takes a bracing breath. There's a lot more grey in it than there had been the week before. "I'll be the first to admit that I haven't been terribly… open to the fact that this war is starting again. I didn't- I d-didn't _want_ it to be happening again. I wanted it all to be an exaggeration. I didn't want my family to be in danger. I didn't want my family to have to f-fight."

She stops and draws in another breath, clutching her daughter close when Ginny wraps her arms around her and burrows into her side. Her throat moves in a swallow, and Harry suddenly gets up and settles himself down at her feet, his back against the sofa's armrest. Molly looks startled for a moment, and then her fingers run very gently through his hair.

Remus has never been prouder of the boy in his life.

"But denial gives you nothing but crippling pain and sorrow, and horrible shock when what you're denying is shoved so very hard in your face. My husband is d-dead. A-Arthur is d-dead. I do not want anyone else I love to meet that same fate."

Tears run silently down her cheeks as she meets each set of eyes in the room, following tracks that have craved a path in her flesh, stained the fragile translucency of her skin. They look almost permanent, those stains. Like she'll never move past this; like this is where she ends, an anchor deep within this moment, locking her in place. However, there _is_ power in the way she holds her head high. Remus feels her gaze deep in his chest when she moves to look at him.

It's a solid smack of an axe to his heart.

He can't breathe.

 _O-oh._

"We must be strong. We must fight. We must _prepare._ You're all aware the Albus is in-incapacitated at the moment, and not able to lend us his infinite wisdom and guidance for the foreseeable future. We must not let that bring us to our knees. The best way to keep everyone safe is to end this war as quickly as possible. To do that, we all must be given every advantage, every scrap of information we have to provide. Not just some of us. _All_ of us."

She looks fierce. No one thinks of contradicting her – no one knows what to say. Surprise is blatant in every expression, and Remus shoots a startled look at Hermione to find her looking back at him, equally as shocked. This is not the Molly Weasley they know.

This is not the Molly of days before.

"They're just kids," Tonks murmurs, frowning at her fingers gripping the armrest. As if drawn to look, her gaze darts up and she shrinks back at the spitting slash of Molly's eyes.

"I know that!" she snaps, clutching Bill's hand like a lifeline. "You don't think I know that? They're _my_ kids! But I won't have them lying dead at my feet because I tried to wrap them up in cotton wool! I won't do that to them any longer! I _know_ my kids and this is the best way I can think of to protect them!

"It's all right, Mum," Charlie says in a soft tone, rubbing her shoulder and sending Tonks a gentle smile. "She's just pointing out what everyone's thinking."

"What everyone's thinking doesn't matter, because I'm going to tell my kids what I want them to know, and no one here is going to stop me! I was hoping for some support in that!"

"You've got it," Hermione says in the ringing silence that follows Molly's outburst. She gets to her feet and walks over to take Molly's hand, her face calm and open. Some would say cheerful.

Remus would say cheerful.

She's a mother too, isn't she?

"Everything being out in the open is exactly what we need. If Harry is okay with that, then I say we do it right here and now. Harry?"

"Yes. Yes, please," Harry says, the side of his head against Molly's knee. He says it almost as if it's a relief to say, his eyes closing and his shoulders sinking. Like a weight's been lifted.

Something _pings_ in the back of Remus's head and he sits forward in a hell of a hurry.

The next hour sends ceaseless shards of ice through his veins, chilling him until he thinks he'll never be warm again.

~0~

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks the wall after everyone has left. They've taken refuge in the kitchen, Molly having gone up to bed to try to sleep up some energy for the upcoming wedding in a few days. They'd brought the wedding forward as a way to remind people that life goes on, but somehow the Burrow is drenched in wrongness, emptiness, a lot of the life gone with Arthur no longer present. The Weasley children have scattered to the corners of the property, taking Ella, Harry and an Ella-attached Timothy with them, and Remus's head is spinning with too much information, his stomach a snake pit of knots.

He's scared. Fuck, he's scared.

He's terrified.

His lips are numb with it.

"You weren't here, mate. We couldn't tell you, could we?"

"You don't think I would've come home once I learnt about this?" Remus asks, turning to look at Sirius, still speaking quietly, as if raising his voice even an octave would shatter him.

It would, probably.

"You don't think that I would consider this the most important thing?"

"Remus, we didn't want to burden you," Hermione says, standing on the other side of the room with her hands in front of her, fingers wringing. Her eyes shout her distress at him. "You believed so much that you had to go, that you had to do that. You needed to do that."

"Well why the fuck didn't you tell me before I left, then?!" he retorts, spitting the words at her, feeling the pieces quiver, on the verge of tumbling and crashing and breaking into the tiniest fragments. There's unbearable heat under his breastbone, the beast rumbling and raising its head, sniffing cautiously and yawning to show a jaw full of sharp and pearly menace. His hands are shaking. "Horcruxes, Hermione? Magic so fucking _black_ , basically no one knows about it? And _Harry's_ one?!"

He isn't aware of taking a step forward. He is, however, aware of Sirius getting to his feet, wariness in his eyes. "My cub has to fucking _die_ for our side to win and _you never fucking told me?!_ "

"I wasn't completely sure until just after you left," Hermione says weakly. She looks like she's going to cry any second. Remus grits his teeth.

"You couldn't have mentioned your suspicions to me before you were sure?!"

"No, because I _needed_ to be sure!" Hermione cries, twisting her hands together so hard, Remus thinks he hears them creak. "I needed to line all the facts up, to do all the research and figure it all out! I needed something tangible to show you lot! I couldn't break everyone's heart with _assumptions_ , Remus! I n-needed to get this _r-right_!"

Her voice is shrill. Her cheeks are wet. She's a mirror of his soul in that moment, her devastation a visible echo around her, sunk deep into her skin. Her voice breaks and Remus strides forward three paces to pull her into his arms, his face buried in her hair.

Hermione trembles against him. He clutches her closer.

"Why? Why does this have to happen?"

"Because destiny is a fucking cocksucker, that's why," Sirius mutters furiously. There's a loud _snap_ , and Remus looks up to see the chair Sirius had been sitting on, on its side, one of the legs splintered inward. Sirius is glaring at it, his arms folded tightly across his chest. "Shitty, arsing prophecy. I hate it. I hate this. Fuck this. _Fuck_ it!"

"There isn't any other way?" Remus whispers. There has to be another way. There _has_ to be.

His cub is going to die.

His cub _has_ to die.

The pain slices him the fuck in two.

"No," Hermione sniffs, voice waterlogged. She folds herself into Remus like he's the only thing keeping her afloat in choppy seas. "I l-looked and there isn't- there isn't… it can't be d-done any o-other w-way! I t-tore the DoM to p-pieces!"

The hope he hadn't been feeling slides away into nothingness, leaving a hole inside him, blank and empty and so, so cold. His eyes find the book sitting on the table that had made its way into the Department of Mysteries and eventually into Hermione's hands. A book that should look innocent but doesn't, a hole reminiscent of the one in his belly in its centre, a black, tar-like substance solidified around the edges.

Riddle's diary.

A Horcrux.

An ex-Horcrux.

And Harry's one, too.

"How is he still okay?" Remus asks in a rough voice. Finding out that Harry already _knew_ about Horcruxes, the prophecy, and that he was a Horcrux himself, had been just as debilitating, if not more, than finding out about it all in the first place. How is the boy still functioning?

"He used the thing with Malfoy as a distraction," Sirius says in a tone so soft, it has Remus lifting his head. "So he didn't have to think about it. The kid obsesses when his mind gets caught on something. Lily used to do that, remember?"

"What thing with Malfoy?"

It takes a moment, but Sirius shrugs. He's face is still as he stares at the opposite wall Remus had found fascinating earlier, too clear, like glass; body careful. There was no energy there now, just a hidden helplessness that stronger than Remus has ever seen it, and Remus wonders just how much it'll take for that type of glass to fracture.

He knows he's not sure if wants to find out.

"Dunno. He never actually said anything, really. Malfoy was his potions partner."

"So they're friends?" Remus asks, the intensity of the look Draco and Harry had shared when the Malfoy heir had fled the school swimming in his mind's eye. Whatever they were, they weren't friends.

"They're something, dunno what."

"Draco's just as much a victim in this as Harry is," Hermione says, stepping back out of Remus's arms and swiping her hand under her nose. "There's no choices here for anyone. Dumbledore made sure of that."

"Fucking prick," Sirius mutters, a scowl creeping along the glass, anger firing through his eyes for a second. "Wish that fucking wall had killed the cunt."

"No, you don't," Remus says quietly, walking over to his mate and poking him in the side. Sirius's scowl deepens. Remus wants to poke him again, just to see that emotion. "Then where would we be?"

"Dumble-fucking-dore-less is where we'd be!"

"We're that now. No need to wish more death on the world, Padfoot, yeah?"

Sirius bares his teeth. "Shit-stain's in a fucking coma, Moony. Something you can wake from?"

"You know the healers said that that isn't likely to happen anytime soon, if at all," Remus says, wincing in his head at Sirius's terminology. But agitated is _much_ better than still, isn't it? Agitated is Sirius.

Still isn't.

Still is uncommon, unhealthy, and something to avoid when it comes to his best mate.

"We need to focus on finding a way to get Harry out of this situation. Find a solution that death, any type, any _body's_ , isn't a part of. Let's try to keep death in the past, not think of it as an undeniable part of our present and future, all right? At least I think we should."

The look of incredibility on Sirius's face shatters the glass so effectively, it makes Remus blink. "Well, look at the fucking _professor_ stepping up!" he laughs, not sounding amused at all. Rounding fully on Remus, he pushed close into his space, fury rolling off him in waves. "You think we should, Remus? _You_ think we should? Where the fuck have _you_ been these last few months? What gives you the right to have any type of opinion at all, _huh_? You weren't here!"

Remus's spine straightens, newly restored anger beginning to hum through his chest once more. "I love him just as much as you do, Padfoot," he says quietly, steel in his tone as he meets Sirius's eyes head on and holds them for a long, heavy moment. He can feel the rage and despair churning through Sirius; taste it, like the anticipation. He can also understand the violent reaction.

But he won't be used as a punching bag for no reason.

He's had enough of that.

The moment practically trembles with tension, so much so that Remus is sure Sirius is going to turn him into a _physical_ punching bag, his eyes screaming. But then he stops.

He stops. And he sags.

And when he looks up, he's still again.

"I need a drink," he says, much too quiet. Remus watches him leave, snagging a bottle on his way out, and his own shoulders sag.

Broken. They're all broken.

He hates it.

"He loves you."

Turning to Hermione, Remus's smile flickers with exhaustion. It's draining, flipping through emotions as if they're a switch. "I know he does, love. Which is why I piss him off so much."

Hermione purses her lips, crossing her arms and giving him a considering look. Her eyes are red from crying, her hair a mess of static and frizz. She's so beautiful, it hurts to look at her. "So the wolfsbane finally dug out the wisdom in you, did it?"

Remus shakes his head. "No. It let me see things far too clearly," he says in a tone that echoes a still Sirius. Hermione's eyes widen. "Can we just… can we sit? I need to… I need… you."

She's in his arms before he finishes reaching. Her lips take his, and she kisses him with a desperation that tastes like salt, feels like terror. So much terror. Remus wraps his arms around her and clings, sinking to the floor.

They stay like that until a half-cut Sirius finds them an hour later and joins them without saying a word.

~0~

"You're not going back to school!"

"Yes, I am!"

"No, you're damn well _not_!" Hermione growls, glaring at her daughter. Ella's glowering right back at her, her face red with frustration, eyes spitting. "It's too dangerous! You're a _halfblood_ , for Merlin's sake! How can you even possibly _think_ I'd let you go back to school?!"

"I'm a _Black_ , I have to be there!" Ella snaps. "You read the letter! It's compulsory!"

"You're a _Granger_ , a _muggle-born_! You're not going back to school!"

"Mum! I'm not _you_!"

"I _know_ that!" Hermione barks back, throwing up her hands. "You're a damn sight stronger and sneakier than I ever _could_ be, and that's why I'm not sending you back there! You'll get yourself hurt, or worse! You're going to Australia for this year at least, and _that's_ _my final word on the matter_!"

"But Timmy's staying here, and Harry, too! Why can't I stay?!"

"Ella!"

"But-"

"I _mean_ it, Elizabeth! Not another _word_!"

"Ugh, you're impossible!" the young witch shrieks, turning and storming from the kitchen, a tornado of anger and upset that slams the door in her wake. Remus watches the commotion from the safety of the other end of the table with not a little shock, having never seen Hermione's daughter lose her temper quite so dramatically. Ella is an intelligent little thing who thinks every situation through, sees all the angles and exploits them to her own and the people she loves advantages. The only time he'd ever seen her come close to exploding like she just had had been during the aftermath of the first time she'd met her father.

Speaking of. His eyes cut to Sirius, who's sitting at the table and who'd barely said a word since Hermione had asked their daughter to sit with them. Sirius's face is blank.

It'd been like that too often lately.

Remus is beginning to think that the glass fracturing would be the best thing for everyone.

"I could've done with your bloody backup at some point there, you know!" Hermione snaps, rounding on Sirius as well. They'd agreed on their approach before they'd called Ella downstairs, then asked Remus to sit in, who was big enough to admit that he'd been ridiculously fucking grateful they'd asked. Having been back at Order headquarters for the past week with just the three of them and the children, he'd been beginning to feel like he and Timothy were interlopers, trespassing on matters best left to family.

They were his family. He'd been second-guessing his surety that he was theirs.

His thoughts confuse him a lot more than he likes.

Bill and Fleur's wedding had been a disaster. Remus had been constantly on edge, flinching at every loud noise and then doing his best to cover up the tell-tale reaction. For whatever reason, Bathilda Bagshot had decided she'd taken a liking to him as well, so he'd had to sit there and pretend he was interested in her stories about Dumbledore and Grindewald, as well as watch for potential danger and keep an eye on a polyjuiced Harry, who'd encouraged her for reasons Remus wasn't entirely sure of. Getting a patronus in the middle of the reception telling them that the ministry had fallen and that they were now being hunted had caused uproar, with Death Eaters arriving and people panicking, and a stampede had ensued. The air had been full of a crackling ozone, magic residue seeping into his pores, horror a scent he'd breathed in more than anyone ever should have to, and his heart had been slamming, lungs squeezed too tight to function by the time he'd rounded Hermione and the others up. They'd escaped to Headquarters by the skin of their teeth, and had been there ever since.

No one else had shown up.

The quiet held an ill-omen that felt horrificly deathly.

"You were handling your own," Sirius says, staring into his still steaming tea. Remus can smell the whiskey at its base. His lips pinch.

He's Padfoot in human flesh.

For the thousandth time, Remus wishes that this war, this _sickness_ , wasn't a part of their reality.

"Holding my own? Did it _really_ look like I was holding my own?!" Hermione retorts, planting her hands on the table and leaning towards him, eyes narrowed. "Damn it, Sirius, she's your daughter too! Or have you forgotten that?"

Sirius's head springs up. "'Course I haven't," he says indignantly, fingers tightening around his mug. "I just didn't want to get in your way-"

The wards blare through their heads, and all three of them are on their feet, wands in hand and eyes snapping towards the front of the house. There's a scuffle from upstairs and Harry and Ella appear on the landing as they reach the front door, both resembling ghosts in their paleness, and both looking far too determined for their own good.

"Get back upstairs!" Hermione hisses at them. Harry shakes his head furiously.

"No. We can help."

"You bloody well can not! Now get back upstairs!"

"It's Andie."

Sirius's quiet statement shuts everyone up, Harry's mouth closing with a snap, confusion in the pull of his brow. Sirius is peering through the net curtains, his own face white. His eyes look washed-out with the colour. "What? Your cousin?" Hermione frowns, turning back to the window and squinting through it herself.

"Yeah, Andromeda, Tonks's mum. She's got someone with her, look."

"Who?" Remus asks, moving in closer and trying to see through both the curtains and the two bodies standing in the way. "Is it Dora?"

"No, Tonks's welcome here so it can't be her… well fuck me."

" _What_?" Remus, Harry and Ella all say at once, impatience making Remus push closer still. Sirius shifts a little to let him see.

What he does see sends an astonished jolt racing through him.

Ah, bloody hell.

"Padfoot?"

"Yes, Moony?"

"Why the hell has your cousin, who isn't a part of the Order as far as I know, so shouldn't know how to get to us, brought Draco fucking _Malfoy_ to Order headquarters?"


End file.
